i  • 

J 


FAVOURITE  CLASSICS: 

The  Plays  of  Sheridan. 


THE  RIVALS 


THE  BRANDES  SHAKESPEARE 


THE  PLAYS  OF  SHAKESPEARE  IN  FORTY  VOLUMES. 

With  Introductions  by  GEORGE  BRANDES. 

i6mo,  Cloth,  Gilt  Bach,  20  cents  net  per  volume. 

Leather,  40  cents  per  volume. 

LIST  OF  VOLUMES. 

HAMLET.  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

KING  RICHARD  III.  KING  HENRY  VI.,  Part  I. 
TWELFTH  NIGHT.  „  ,,  .,    II. 

THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  „  ,,  ,,    III. 

MACBETH.  ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 

CORIOLANUS.  KING  JOHN. 

CYMBELINB.  KING  HENRY  IV.,  Part  I. 
ROMEO  AND  JULIET.  „  „  ,,    II. 

As  You  LIKE  IT.  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 

TITUS  ANDRONICUS.  TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 

LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 

TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA.  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

OTHELLO.  KING  RICHARD  II. 

KING  LEAR.  KING  HENRY  VI II. 

THE  TEMPEST.  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 
ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.          Two  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 

PERICLES.  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

JULIUS  C-ESAR.  THE  SONNETS. 

KING  HBNRY  v.  VENUS  AND  ADONIS. 

TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  THE  RAPE  OF  LUCRECE. 


Also  uniform  with  the  above. 

SELECTED    POEMS   OF  ALFRED  SELECTED  ESSAYS  OF  CHARLES 

LORD  TENNYSON:  Early  Poems,  LAMB.      With     Introduction     by 

The  Princess,     English    Idyls,    In  Arthur  Waugh.    Two  Vols. 
Memoriam,     Maud,    Idyls    of   the 

King  (Two  VoK).    With  Introduc-  SBLF.CTED    ESSAYS    OF   JOSEPH 

turns  by   Arthur   Waugh.     Seven  ADDISON.     With  Introduction  by 

Vols'  Austin  Dobson.    One  Vol. 

THE  PLAYS  OF  R.  B.  SHERIDAN  ; 

The  School  for  Scandal,  The  Rivals,  SELECTED    POEMS     OF     EDGAR 

The    Critic.    With      Introductions  ALLAN  POE.     With    Introduction 

by  Edmund  Gosse.      Three  Vols.  by  Arthur  Symons.    One  Vol. 


wt 

Arthur  Waugh.     Two  Vo.s.  ^0™™™ 

POEMS   OF      SAMUEL     TAYLOR 

COLERIDGE.    Copyright  Edition.  OMAR  KHAYYAM.   Translated  from 

With  unpublished  additions.    With  the     Persian      by    Edward     Fitz- 

Introduction  by  E.   H.  Coleridge.  Gerald.      With     Introduction    by 

One  Vol.  Clement  Shorter.    One  Vol. 

To  be  followed  by  further  volumes  at  short  intervals. 


NEW  YORK  :  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 
LONDON  :  WILLIAM  HEINEMANN 


THE    PLAYS    OF 
SHERIDAN 


THE    RIVALS 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 

EDMUND     GOSSE 

and  a  Plate  representing  DOWTON 
as  '  Sir  Anthony  Absolute.' 


NEW  YORK :  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 
LONDON:  WILLIAM  HEINEMANN 

1905 


THE     RIVALS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

THERE  are  few  prominent  plays  in  the  literature  of  the 
world  which  contain  so  many  traces  of  the  condition  and 
of  the  adventures  of  their  author  as  does  The  Rivals. 
Without  being  directly  autobiographical,  it  is  coloured 
from  prologue  to  epilogue  by  the  personal  history  of  the 
brilliant  young  fellow  who  wrote  it,  and  without  re- 
minding ourselves  what  were  the  events  through  which 
he  had  lately  passed,  we  fail  to  appreciate  half  the 
touches  in  it.  He  had  lately  been  a  part  of  the  sham 
chivalry  and  the  sham  romance  of  which  he  made  such 
immortal  fun,  and  the  impressions  of  the  absurdities  of 
life  were  fresh  upon  his  memory  when  he  wrote  The 
Rivals.  He  had  been  twenty  years  of  age  when  he 
eloped  with  Elizabeth  Linley,  exactly  as  Lydia  Languish 
hoped  to  fly  with  her  Beverley.  He  had  been  twenty- 
one  when  he  fought  two  ridiculous  duels,  which  were 
evidently  in  his  mind  when  he  invented  the  inimitable 
scenes  in  the  fifth  act  of  the  play.  He  had  suffered 
"inexpressible  torments,"  and  had  indulged  in  "sheets 
of  unintelligible  rhapsody."  At  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Miller  in  Bath  he  had  met  with  pretension  and  incon- 
gruity and  fashionable  flutter  enough  to  rig  out  a  dozen 
Mrs.  Malaprops.  He  had  poured  verses  into  the 
celebrated  vase,  dressed  with  pink  ribbons  and  myrtles, 
which  crowned  the  fair  of  Parnassus  at  Bath  Easton. 
Throughout  his  tumultuous,  absurd,  romantic  youth, 
Sheridan  had  seemed  to  be  rather  acting  than  observing, 
but  his  keen  eyes  were  open  to  the  world  of  folly,  and 
he  was  still  but  twenty-three  when  he  sat  down  to  write 
this  immortal  picture  of  it  all. 

As  early  as  1771,  and  before  the  elopement,  he  had 
proposed  to  himself  to  write  a  comedy.  He  was  full 
of  literary  ambition,  but  the  path  which  he  ought  tc 


2227621 


THE     RIVALS. 


take  was  slow  to  reveal  itself.  'The  elopement,  the 
secret  marriage,  the  scandals  at  Bath,  the  tremendous 
duels,  interrupted  the  development  of  literature,  for 
who  has  time  or  wish  to  write  comedy  if  he  is  actively 
engaged  in  making  it?  At  last,  when  quietly  settled 
with  his  hardly-won  St.  Cecilia  in  the  London  house  in 
Orchard  Street,  early  in  October  1774,  he  sat  down  to 
write  a  comedy  for  Covent  Garden.  He  did  this  at  the 
request  of  Harris,  the  manager,  who  had  doubtless  been 
struck  by  the  theatrical  genius  of  Sheridan's  mind  and 
by  his  wonderful  aptitude  for  conversation.  On  the 
17th  of  November,  only  six  weeks  after  his  setting  to 
work  on  it,  the  new  comedy  was  already  in  rehearsal. 
Harris  and  his  friends,  as  Sheridan  informs  his  father, 
"  assure  me  in  the  most  nattering  terms  that  [there  is 
not  a  doubt  of  its  success,"  and  that  the  dramatist  may 
depend  on  £600  profit  at  the  very  least.  It  was  very 
•characteristic  of  Sheridan  thus  to  count  his  chickens 
before  the  eggs  were  hatched,  and  his  confidence  was 
vthe  more  rash  because  several  interesting  and  carefully- 
written  plays  had  quite  lately  been  damned  by  the 
capricious  public.  On  the  17th  of  January  1775,  his 
comedy  was  at  length  acted  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre, 
and  met,  we  are  told,  "with  very  harsh  treatment." 
The  audience,  however,  seemed  rather  captious  than 
hostile,  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  their  objections 
were  fairly  founded.  The  Rivals  is  still  a  long  play ; 
on  the  first  night  it  was  double  the  length  of  any  acting 
drama,  and  the  public  made  no  concealment  of  their 
extreme  fatigue.  Moreover,  the  part  of  Sir  Lucius 
O'Trigger,  which  requires  great  vigour,  was  so  feebly 
and  ineffectively  acted  by  John  Lee,  as  to  call  dowr 
upon  him  "shouts  of  disapprobation."  The  result  was 
somewhat  extraordinary  in  the  history  of  the  theatre. 
The  Rivals  was  immediately  withdrawn,  after  the  first 
representation,  but  not,  as  might  be  supposed,  to  be 
consigned  to  oblivion  or  to  the  provinces.  With  his 
admirable  good  sense,  and  rapidity  of  action,  Sheridan 
set  himself  to  correct  whatever  the  public  had  disliked. 
First  and  foremost  he  removed  a  blemish  which  Harris, 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

if  not  he,  should  have  perceived  in  rehearsal ;  the 
excessive  length  of  the  piece.  He  cut  it  down  ruthlessly 
and  adroitly  to  the  quite  sufficient  proportions  with 
which  we  are  now  familiar.  Then  there  were  certain 
passages  which  seemed  generally  disliked  by  the  first- 
night  audience.  Nine  authors  out  of  ten  would  have 
said  that  these  were  the  particular  beauties  of  the  play. 
Sheridan  was  above  all  things  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
he  gratified  the  public  by  an  instant  admission  that  "  if 
I  felt  any  emotion  of  surprise  at  the  disapprobation  [of 
these  passages],  it  was  not  that  they  were  disapproved  of, 
but  that  I  had  not  before  perceived  that  they  deserved 
it."  Out  they  all  went.  The  audience  had  disapproved 
of  John  Lee,  who  was  perhaps  too  old  for  the  part  of 
Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger ;  it  was  taken  from  him  and  given 
to  Clinch,  a  less-known  but  younger  actor,  who  played 
it  with  magnificent  Irish  verve. 

The  revival  of  the  comedy  took  place  eleven  days 
later,  and  this  time  the  whole  strength  of  Covent 
Garden  was  concentrated  on  it.  Edward  Shuter  was 
tempestuous  in  Sir  Anthony  Absolute ;  old  Henry 
Woodward,  a  veteran  favourite  with  the  public,  made 
up  as  a  surprisingly  gallant  Captain  Absolute ;  John 
Quick,  who  had  been  the  original  Tony  Lumpkin,  was 
now  the  original  Bob  Acres;  while  "Gentleman" 
Lewis  acted  the  melancholy,  whimsical  Faulkland  to 
the  life.  The  women  were  no  less  ably  chosen.  Miss 
Barsanti  played  Lydia  Languish  ;  delightful  Mrs.  Green, 
Mrs.  Malaprop ;  whilst  perhaps  the  greatest  success  of 
all  was  achieved  by  Mrs.  Bulkley  as  Julia.  On  the 
second  representation  the  success  of  the  play  was 
assured,  and  since  that  night  it  has  never  ceased  to  be 
a  prime  favourite  with  English  audiences.  It  ran  at 
Covent  Garden  for  sixteen  nights.  Early  in  February, 
Sheridan  took  the  play  to  Bath,  then  considered  a 
"theatrical  tribunal,  though  not  in  quantity,  in  quality 
as  good  as  that  of  London."  Miss  Linley  (quoted  by 
Mr.  Fraser  Rae)  says  of  the  actors  on  the  first  Bath 
night,  "  I  suppose  the  poor  creatures  never  acted  with 
such  shouts  of  applause  in  their  life  ...  I  never  saw  or 


THE     RIVALS. 


heard  anything  like  it :  before  the  actors  spoke  they 
began  their  clapping."  It  was  the  same  at  Southampton, 
the  same  at  Bristol.  The  Rivals  enjoyed,  not  the  success 
of  the  year,  but  the  success  of  the  century.  Perhaps 
the  most  pathetic  incident  connected  with  the  early 
triumph  of  the  play  was  that  Sheridan's  father  and 
sisters,  who  were  now  entirely  estranged  from  him  by  a 
family  quarrel,  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  coming 
to  witness  his  splendour.  From  an  unseen  spot  behind 
the  stage,  Sheridan  gazed  at  their  faces,  and  the  tears 
gathered  in  his  eyes  to  think  "that  he  alone  was  not 
permitted  to  go  near  them  or  speak  to  them." 

A  French  philosopher  has  warned  us  that  we  must 
not  look  for  psychology  from  a  writer  of  twenty-three. 
That  was  the  age  of  the  sparkling  author  of  The  Rivals, 
and  he  was  not  a  prodigy  in  this  respect,  although  he  was 
one  in  so  many  others.  His  play  presents  us  with  the 
results  of  no  close  anatomy  of  human  character,  and  is 
illuminated  by  no  subtle  flashes  of  analysis  or  intuition. 
Its  object,  frankly,  is  to  entertain,  and  the  unbroken 
merriment  of  more  than  a  century  proves  that  it 
attained  what  it  aimed  at.  The  high  spirits  of  The 
Rivals,  from  the  first  speech  to  the  last,  are  what  any 
dramatist  who  ever  lived  might  envy.  Every  scene  is 
instinct  with  the  effervescence  of  youthful  genius,  and 
laughter  is  always  at  the  wings,  holding  both  his  sides. 
In  1775  the  condition  of  English  comedy  was  critical. 
A  few  months  earlier,  Goldsmith,  who  alone  had  pre- 
served the  tradition  of  pure  English  fun,  defending  it 
against  the  sentimentalities  of  French  drama,  had  died 
untimely.  That  comedy  which  was  expected  to  con- 
tinue and  to  surpass  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  would  never 
be  written  by  the  one  great  playwright  whom  England 
had  produced  since  Farquhar.  The  authors  of  lachry- 
mose plays,  the  Cumberlands,  the  Murphys,  the  Hugh 
Kellys,  regained  something  of  the  position  they  had 
lost,  but  Goldsmith's  genius  had  exposed  them,  and  the 
little  sentimental  comedies  out  of  Marmontel,  which 
they  offered  to  their  admirers,  fell  flatter  and  flatter  on 
the  stage.  Sheridan,  while  almost  a  boy,  had  mocked 


INTRODUCTION. 


at  the  authors — and  Hugh  Kelly,  with  his  lugubrious 
False  Delicacy  (1768),  was  the  leader  of  them — who  said 
that  you  should  ' '  form  comedy  so  that  it  is  no  laughing, 
giggling  piece  of  work."  He  had  seen  Major  O'Flaherty 
in  Cumberland's  West  Indian  at  Drury  Lane  in  1771, 
and  had  said  to  himself  that  he  could  do  something 
better  than  that  with  the  point  of  honour.  Now  the 
scene  was  suddenly  empty,  for  even  Kelly  was  declining 
towards  his  premature  death.  Now,  or  never,  was  the 
moment  to  recall  comedy  to  her  mirthful  humour,  and 
pack  all  the  snivelling  farces  to  the  Devil. 

It  was  in  The  Rivals  that  Sheridan  did  it,  and  it  is  in 
the  element  of  robust  laughter  that  the  play  subsists. 
The  serious  conversations,  between  Julia  and  Lydia, 
between  Julia  and  Faulkland,  are  stilted  and  poor. 
The  accomplished  Cumberland  could  do  this  kind  of 
thing  at  least  as  well  as  young  Mr.  Sheridan.  These 
scenes  bore  us  to-day,  but  let  Mrs.  Malaprop  or  Acres 
enter,  and  all  is  magnificent  again.  Such  a  scene  'as 
that  in  which  Mrs.  Malaprop  is  forced  to  admit  that 
Captain  Absolute  Jis  "  the  pine-apple  of  -'politeness," 
or  that  between  Acres  and  David  at  the  beginning  of 
Act  IV.  have  never  been  surpassed  in  the  comic  literature 
of  the  world.  It  is  impossible  for  a  dramatist  to  be 
more  sprightly,  more  robustly  facetious,  than  this,  and 
beside  such  fireworks  of  humour  the  boasted  wit  of 
Congreve  seems  hard  and  motionless,  like  a  set  piece 
in  gold  wire.  In  after  years,  when  Sheridan  had  grown 
critical  by  experience,  he  was  accustomed  to  say  that 
The  Rival*  "was  one  of  the  worst  plays  in  the 
language."  He  would  have  given  anything,  he  declared, 
not  to  have  written  it.  He  destroyed  from  among  his 
papers  all  references  to  it.  This  is  merely  an  instance 
of  an  old  man  grown  too  fastidious  to  appreciate  the 
full-blooded  and  jovial  impulses  of  youth.  Essentially 
The  Rivals  is  a  young  play  ;  we  miss  all  its  fire  and 
force  if  we  judge  it  by  solemn  and  Terentian  standards. 
But  if  we  are  inclined  to  be  critical  of  its  psychology 
and  its  construction,  it  treats  us  as  Sam  Foote  treated 
Dr.  Johnson,  who  being  resolved  not  to  be  pleased  with 
the  comedian's  conversation  at  dinner,  found,  never- 


THE     RIVALS. 


theless,  that  "the  dog  was  so  comical  that  I  was 
obliged  to  lay  down  my  knife  and  fork,  throw  myself 
back  upon  my  chair,  and  fairly  laugh  it  out."  In  the 

Eresence  of  Mrs.  Malaprop,  criticism  has  to  lay  down 
is  knife  and  fork,  and  fairly  laugh  it  out 

EDMUND  GOSSE. 


THE     RIVALS. 


PREFACE. 

A  PREFACE  to  a  play  seems  generally  to  be  considered 
as  a  kind  of  closet-prologue,  in  which,  if  his  piece  has 
been  successful,  the  author  solicits  that  indulgence 
from  the  reader  which  he  had  before  experienced 
from  the  audience.  But  as  the  scope  and  immediate 
object  of  a  play  is  to  please  a  mixed  assembly  in 
representation  (whose  judgment,  in  the  theatre  at  least, 
is  decisive),  its  degree  of  reputation  is  usually  as 
determined  as  public,  before  it  can  be  prepared  for 
the  cooler  tribunal  of  the  study.  Thus  any  further 
solicitude  on  the  part  of  the  writer  becomes  unneces- 
sary at  least,  if  not  an  intrusion  ;  and  if  the  piece  has 
been  condemned  in  the  performance,  I  fear  an  address 
to  the  closet,  like  an  appeal  to  posterity,  is  constantly 
regarded  as  the  procrastination  of  a  suit,  from  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  weakness  of  the  cause.  From  these 
considerations  the  following  comedy  would  certainly 
have  been  submitted  to  the  reader  without  any  further 
introduction  than  what  it  had  in  the  representation, 
but  that  its  success  has  probably  been  founded  on  a 
circumstance  which  the  author  is  informed  has  not 
before  attended  a  theatrical  trial,  and  which  conse- 
quently ought  not  to  pass  unnoticed. 

I  need  scarcely  add  that  the  circumstance  alluded 
to  was  the  withdrawing  of  the  piece  to  remove  those 
imperfections  in  the  first  representation  which  were  too 
obvious  to  escape  reprehension,  and  too  numerous  to 
admit  of  a  hasty  correction.  There  are  few  writers, 
I  believe,  who,  even  in  the  fullest  consciousness  of 
error,  do  not  wish  to  palliate  the  faults  which  they 
acknowledge  ;  and,  however  trifling  the  performance, 
to  second  their  confession  of  its  deficiencies  by  what- 
ever plea  seems  least  disgraceful  to  their  ability.  In 
the  present  instance  it  cannot  be  said  to  amount  either 


Xii  THE     RIVALS. 


to  candour  or  modesty  in  me  to  acknowledge  an  extreme 
inexperience  and  want  of  judgment  on  matters  in  which, 
without  guidance  from  practice  or  spur  from  success, 
a  young  man  should  scarcely  boast  of  being  an  adept. 
If  it  be  said  that  under  such  disadvantages  no  one 
should  attempt  to  write  a  play,  I  must  beg  leave  to 
dissent  from  the  position,  while  the  first  point  of 
experience  that  I  have  gained  on  the  subject  is  a  know- 
ledge of  the  candour  and  judgment  with  which  an 
impartial  public  distinguishes  between  the  errors  of 
inexperience  and  incapacity,  and  the  indulgence  which 
it  shows  even  to  a  disposition  to  remedy  the  defects 
of  either. 

It  were  unnecessary  to  enter  into  any  further  extenu- 
ation of  what  was  thought  exceptionable  in  this  play, 
but  that  it  has  been  said  that  the  managers  should 
have  prevented  some  of  the  defects  before  its  appearance 
to  the  public,  and  in  particular  the  uncommon  length 
of  the  piece  as  represented  the  first  night.  It  were  an 
ill  return  for  the  most  liberal  and  gentlemanly  conduct 
on  their  side  to  suffer  any  censure  to  rest  where  none 
was  deserved.  Hurry  in  writing  has  long  been  exploded 
as  an  excuse  for  an  author.  However,  in  the  dramatic 
line  it  may  happen  that  both  an  author  and  a  manager 
may  wish  to  fill  a  chasm  in  the  entertainment  of  the 
public  with  a  hastiness  not  altogether  culpable.  The 
season  was  advanced  when  I  first  put  the  play  into  Mr. 
Harris's  hands.  It  was  at  that  time  at  least  double  the 
length  of  any  acting  comedy.  I  profited  by  his  judg- 
ment and  experience  in  the  curtailing  of  it,  till  I  believe 
his  feeling  for  the  vanity  of  a  young  author  got  the 
better  of  his  desire  for  correctness,  and  he  left  many 
excrescences  remaining,  because  he  had  assisted  in 
pruning  so  many  more.  Hence,  though  I  was  not 
uninformed  that  the  acts  were  still  too  long,  I  nattered 
myself  that,  after  the  first  trial,  I  might  with  safer 
judgment  proceed  to  remove  what  should  appear  to  have 
been  most  dissatisfactory.  Many  other  errors  there 
were  which  might  in  part  have  arisen  from  my  being 
by  no  means  conversant  with  plays  in  general,  either 
in  reading  or  at  the  theatre.  Yet  I  own  that,  in  one 


PREFACE.  X1H 


respect,  I  did  not  regret  my  ignorance  ;  for  as  my  first 
wish  in  attempting  a  play  was  to  avoid  every  appear- 
ance of  plagiary,  I  thought  I  should  stand  a  better 
chance  of  effecting  this  from  being  in  a  walk  which 
I  had  uot  frequented,  and  where,  consequently,  the 
progress  of  invention  was  less  likely  to  be  interrupted 
by  starts  of  recollection  :  for  on  subjects  on  which  the 
mind  has  been  much  informed,  invention  is  slow  of 
exerting  itself.  Faded  ideas  float  in  the  fancy  like  half- 
forgotten  dreams,  and  the  imagination  in  its  fullest 
enjoyments  becomes  suspicious  of  its  offspring,  and 
doubts  whether  it  has  created  or  adopted. 

With  regard  to  some  particular  passages  which  on 
the  first  night's  representation  seemed  generally  dis- 
liked, I  confess  that  if  I  felt  any  emotion  of  surprise 
at  the  disapprobation,  it  was  not  that  they  were  dis- 
approved of,  but  that  I  had  not  before  perceived  that 
they  deserved  it.  As  some  part  of  the  attack  on  the 
piece  was  begun  too  early  to  pass  for  the  sentence  of 
judgment,  which  is  ever  tardy  in  condemning,  it  has 
been  suggested  to  me  that  much  of  the  disapprobation 
must  have  arisen  from  virulence  of  malice  rather  than 
severity  of  criticism  ;  but  as  I  was  more  apprehensive 
of  their  being  just  grounds  to  excite  the  latter  than 
conscious  of  having  deserved  the  former,  I  continue 
not  to  believe  that  probable  which  I  am  sure  must 
have  been  unprovoked.  However,  if  it  was  so,  and 
I  could  even  mark  the  quarter  from  whence  it  came, 
it  would  be  ungenerous  to  retort,  for  no  passion  suffers 
more  than  malice  from  disappointment.  For  my  own 
part,  I  see  no  reason  why  the  author  of  a  play  should 
not  regard  a  first  night's  audience  as  a  candid  and 
judicious  friend  attending  on  behalf  of  the  public  at 
his  last  rehearal.  If  he  can  dispense  with  flattery,  he 
is  sure  at  least  of  sincerity,  and  even  though  the 
annotation  be  rude,  he  may  rely  upon  the  justness  of 
the  comment.  Considered  in  this  light,  that  audience 
whose  fiat  is  essential  to  the  poet's  claim,  whether  his 
object  be  fame  or  profit,  has  surely  a  right  to  expect 
some  deference  to  its  opinion,  from  principles  of 
politeness  at  least,  if  not  from  gratitude. 


THE     RIVALS. 


As  for  the  little  puny  critics  who  scatter  their 
peevish  strictures  in  private  circles,  and  scribble  at 
every  author  who  has  the  eminence  of  being1  uncon- 
nected with  them,  as  they  are  usually  spleen-swoln 
from  a  vain  idea  of  increasing1  their  consequence, 
there  will  always  be  found  a  petulance  and  illiberality 
in  their  remarks  which  should  place  them  as  far 
beneath  the  notice  of  a  gentleman  as  their  original 
dulness  had  sunk  them  from  the  level  of  the  most 
unsuccessful  author. 

It  is  not  without  pleasure  that  I  catch  at  an  oppor- 
tunity of  justifying  myself  from  the  charge  of  intend- 
ing any  national  reflection  in  the  character  of  Sir  Lucius 
O'Trigger.  If  any  gentlemen  opposed  the  piece  from 
that  idea,  I  thank  them  sincerely  for  their  opposition  ; 
and  if  the  condemnation  of  this  comedy  (however  mis- 
conceived the  provocation)  could  have  added  one  spark 
to  the  decaying  flame  of  national  attachment  to  the 
country  supposed  to  be  reflected  on,  I  should  have  been 
happy  in  its  fate,  and  might  with  truth  have  boasted 
that  it  had  done  more  real  service  in  its  failure  than  the 
successful  morality  of  a  thousand  stage-novels  will  ever 
effect. 

It  is  usual,  I  believe,  to  thank  the  performers  in  a 
new  play  for  the  exertion  of  their  several  abilities.  But 
where  (as  in  this  instance)  their  merit  has  been  so 
striking  and  uncontroverted  as  to  call  for  the  warmest 
and  truest  applause  from  a  number  of  judicious  audiences, 
the  poet's  after-praise  comes  like  the  feeble  acclamation 
of  a  child  to  close  the  shouts  of  a  multitude.  The  con- 
duct, however,  of  the  principals  in  a  theatre  cannot  be 
so  apparent  to  the  public.  I  think  it  therefore  but 
justice  to  declare  that  from  this  theatre  (the  only  one 
I  can  speak  of  from  experience)  those  writers  who  wish 
to  try  the  dramatic  line  will  meet  with  that  candour 
and  liberal  attention,  which  are  generally  allowed  to  be 
better  calculated  to  lead  genius  into  excellence,  than 
either  the  precepts  of  judgment,  or  the  guidance  of 
experience. 

THE  AUTHOR, 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

(At  originally  acted  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre  in  1776.) 

SIR  ANTHONY  ABSOLUTE  .        .        .  Mr.  Shuter. 

CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE   ....  Mr.  Woodward. 

FAULKLAND Mr.  Lewis. 

ACRES Mr.  Quick. 

SIR  Lucius  O'TRIGGER      .        .        .  Mr.  Lee. 

FAG Mr.  Lee  Lewes. 

DAVID Mr.  Dunstal. 

THOMAS Mr.  Fearon. 

MRS.  MALAPROP       ....  Mrs.  Green. 

LYDIA  LANGUISH       ....  Miss  Barsanti. 

JULIA Mrs.  Bulkier. 

LUCY Mrs.  Lessingham. 

Maid,  Boy,  Servantt,  &$c. 

Scene — Bath. 
Time  of  Action — Five  Hour*. 


THE   RIVALS. 


PROLOGUE 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 

SPOKEN  BY  MR.  WOODWARD  AND  MR.  QUICK. 

Enter  SERJEANT-AT-LAW,  and  ATTORNEY  following,  and 
giving  a  paper. 

SERJ.  What's  here  ! — a  vile  cramp  hand  !  I  cannot  see 
Without  my  spectacles. 

ATT.  He  means  his  fee. 

Nay,  Mr.  Serjeant,  good  sir,  try  again.        [Gives  money. 

SERJ.  The  scrawl  improves  !    [more]    O    come,    'tis 

pretty  plain. 

Hey  !  how's  this  ?     Dibble  ! — sure  it  cannot  be  ! 
A  poet's  brief !  a  poet  arid  a  fee  ! 

ATT.   Yes,  sir  !  though  you  without  reward,  I  know, 
Would  gladly  plead  the  Muse's  cause. 

SERJ.  So  ! — so  ! 

ATT.  And  if  the  fee  offends,  your  wrath  should  fall 
On  me. 

SERJ.  Dear  Dibble,  no  offence  at  all. 

ATT.  Some  sons  of  Phoebus  in  the  courts  we  meet, 

SERJ.  And  fifty  sons  of  Phoebus  in  the  Fleet ! 

ATT.  Nor  pleads  he  worse,  who  with  a  decent  sprig 
Of  bays  adorns  his  legal  waste  of  wig. 

SEHJ.   Full-bottom'd  heroes  thus,  on  signs,  unfurl 
A  leaf  of  laurel  in  a  grove  of  curl ! 

A 


2  THE     RIVALS. 


Yet  tell  jour  client,  that,  in  adverse  days, 
This  wig  is  warmer  than  a  bush  of  bays. 

ATT.  Do  you,  then,  sir,  my  client's  place  supply, 

Profuse  of  robe,  and  prodigal  of  tie 

Do  you,  with  all  those  blushing  powers  of  face, 

And  wonted  bashful  hesitating  grace, 

Rise  in  the  court,  and  flourish  on  the  case.  [Exit. 

SERJ.   For  practice  then  suppose — this  brief  will  show 

it- 

Me,  Serjeant  Woodward, — counsel  for  the  poet. 
Used  to  the  ground,  I  know  'tis  hard  to  deal 
With  this  dread  court,  from  whence  there's  no  appeal ; 
No  tricking  here,  to  blunt  the  edge  of  law, 
Or,  damn'd  in  equity,  escape  by  flaw  : 
But  judgment  given,  your  sentence  must  remain  ; 
No  writ  of  error  lies — to  Drury  Lane  ! 

Yet  when  so  kind  you  seem,  'tis  past  dispute 
We  gain  some  favour,  if  not  costs  of  suit. 
No  spleen  is  here  !  I  see  no  hoarded  fury ; — 
I  think  I  never  faced  a  milder  jury  ! 
Sad  else  our  plight  !  where  frowns  are  transportation, 
A  hiss  the  gallows,  and  a  groan  damnation  ! 
But  such  the  public  candour,  without  fear 
My  client  waives  all  right  of  challenge  here. 
No  newsman  from  our  session  is  dismiss'd, 
Nor  wit  nor  critic  we  scratch  off  the  list ; 
His  faults  can  never  hurt  another's  ease, 
His  crime,  at  worst,  a  bad  attempt  to  please  : 
Thus,  all  respecting,  he  appeals  to  all, 
And  by  the  general  voice  will  stand  or  fall. 


THE     RIVALS.  3 

PROLOGUE 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 
SPOKEN  ON  THE  TENTH   NJGHT  BY  MHS.  BULKLEY. 

GRANTED  our  cause,  our  suit  and  trial  o'er, 
The  worthy  serjeant  need  appear  no  more : 
In  pleasing  I  a  different  client  choose, 
He  served  the  Poet — I  would  serve  the  Muse  ; 
Like  him,  I'll  try  to  merit  your  applause, 
A  female  counsel  in  a  female's  cause. 

Look  on  this  form,1 — where  humour,  quaint  and  sly, 
Dimples  the  cheek,  and  points  the  beaming-  eye ; 
Where  gay  invention  seems  to  boast  its  wiles 
In  amorous  hint,  and  half-triumphant  smiles  ; 
While  her  light  mask  or  covers  satire's  strokes, 
Or  hides  the  conscious  blush  her  wit  provokes. 
Look  on  her  well — does  she  seem  form'd  to  teach  ? 
Should  you  expect  to  hear  this  lady  preach  ? 
Is  grey  experience  suited  to  her  youth? 
Do  solemn  sentiments  become  that  mouth  ? 
Bid  her  be  grave,  those  lips  should  rebel  prove 
To  every  theme  that  slanders  mirth  or  love. 

Yet,  thus  adorned  with  every  graceful  art 

To  charm  the  fancy  and  yet  reach  the  heart 

Must  we  displace  her  ?     And  instead  advance 
The  goddess  of  the  woful  countenance — 
The  sentimental  Muse  ! — Her  emblems  view, 
The  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  a  sprig  of  rue  ! 
View  her — too  chaste  to  look  like  flesh  and  blood — 
Primly  portray'd  on  emblematic  wood  ! 
There,  fix'd  in  usurpation,  should  she  stand, 
She'll  snatch  the  dagger  from  her  sister's  hand  : 
1  Pointing  to  the  figure  of  Comedy. 


THE     RIVALS.  [ACT 


And  having  made  her  votaries  weep  a  flood, 
Good  heaven  !  she'll  end  her  comedies  in  blood — 
Bid  Harry  Woodward  break  poor  Dunstal's  crown  ! 
Imprison  Quick,  and  knock  Ned  Shuter  down  ; 
While  sad  Barsanti,  weeping  o'er  the  scene, 
Shall  stab  herself — or  poison  Mrs.  Green. 

Such  dire  encroachments  to  prevent  in  time, 
Demands  the  critic's  voice — the  poet's  rhyme. 
Can  our  light  scenes  add  strength  to  holy  laws  ! 
Such  puny  patronage  but  hurts  the  cause: 
Fair  virtue  scorns  our  feeble  aid  to  ask  ; 
And  moral  truth  disdains  the  trickster's  mask, 
For  here  their  favourite  stands,1  whose  brow  severe 
And  sad,  claims  youth's  respect,  and  pity's  tear  ; 
Who,  when  oppress'd  by  foes  her  worth  creates, 
Can  point  a  poniard  at  the  guilt  she  hates. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 
SCENE  I. 

A  Street. 

Enter  THOMAS.     He  crosses  the  Stage.     FAG  follows, 
looking  after  him. 

FAG.  What!  Thomas!  sure 'tis  he  ?— What !  Thomas! 
Thomas  ! 

THOS.  Hey  ! — Odd's  life  !  Mr.  Fag  ! — give  us  your 
hand,  my  old  fellow-servant. 

FAG.  Excuse  my  glove,  Thomas.  I'm  devilish  glad 
to  see  you,  my  lad.  Why,  my  prince  of  charioteers, 
you  look  as  hearty  ! — but  who  the  deuce  thought  of 
seeing  you  in  Bath  ? 

THOS.  Sure,  master,  Madam  Julia,  Harry,  Mrs.  Kate, 
and  the  postillion,  be  all  come. 

1  Pointing  to  Tragedy. 


SC.    I.]  THE     RIVALS. 


FAG.  Indeed  ! 

THOS.  Ay,  master  thought  another  fit  of  the  gout 
was  coming  to  make  him  a  visit ;  so  he'd  a  mind  to 
gi't  the  slip,  and  whip  !  we  were  all  off  at  an  hour's 
warning. 

FAG.  Ay,  ay,  hasty  in  everything,  or  it  would  not 
be  Sir  Anthony  Absolute  ! 

THOS.  But  tell  us,  Mr.  Fag,  how  does  young  master? 
Odd  !  Sir  Anthony  will  stare  to  see  the  captain  here  ! 

FAG.  I  do  not  serve  Captain  Absolute  now. 

THOS.  Why,  sure  ! 

FAG.  At  present  I  am  employed  by  Ensign  Beverley. 

THOS.  I  doubt,  Mr.  Fag,  you  ha'u't  changed  for  the 
better. 

FAG.  I  have  not  changed,  Thomas. 

THOS.  No  !  Why,  didn't  you  say  you  had  left  young 
master  ? 

FAG.  No.  Well,  honest  Thomas,  I  must  puzzle  you 
no  further.  Briefly  then — Captain  Absolute  and  Ensign 
Beverley  are  one  and  the  same  person. 

THOS.   The  devil  they  are  ! 

FAG.  So  it  is  indeed,  Thomas  ;  and  the  ensign  half  of 
my  master  being  on  guard  at  present — the  captain  has 
nothing  to  do  with  me. 

THOS.  So,  so  !  What,  this  is  some  freak,  1  warrant  ! 
Do  tell  us,  Mr.  Fag,  the  meaning  o't — you  know,  I  ha* 
trusted  you. 

FAG.  You'll  be  secret,  Thomas  ? 

THOS.  As  a  coach  horse. 

FAG.  Why,  then,  the  cause  of  all  this  is — Love, — 
Love,  Thomas,  who  (as  you  may  get  read  to  you)  has 
been  a  masquerader  ever  since  the  days  of  Jupiter. 

THOS.  Ay,  ay ;  I  guessed  there  was  a  lady  in  the 
case— but  pray,  why  does  your  master  pass  only  for 
ensign  ?  Now  if  he  had  shammed  general  indeed 


THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    I. 


FAG.  Ah  !  Thomas,  there  lies  the  mystery  o'  the 
matter.  Hark'ee,  Thomas,  my  master  is  in  love  with 
a  lady  of  a  very  singular  taste— a  lady  who  likes  him 
better  as  a  half-pay  ensign  than  if  she  knew  he  was 
son  and  heir  to  Sir  Anthony  Absolute,  a  baronet  of 
three  thousand  a  year. 

THOS.  That  is  an  odd  taste  indeed  !  But  has  she 
got  the  stuff,  Mr.  Fag?  Is  she  rich,  hey? 

FAG.  Rich  !  Why,  I  believe  she  owns  half  the 
stocks  !  Zounds  !  Thomas,  she  could  pay  the  national 
debt  as  easily  as  I  could  my  washerwoman  !  She  has 
a  lapdog  that  eats  out  of  gold,  she  feeds  her  parrot 
with  small  pearls,  and  all  her  thread-papers  are  made 
of  bank-notes  ! 

THOS.  Bravo,  faith  !  Odd  !  I  warrant  she  has  a  set 
of  thousands  at  least ;  but  does  she  draw  kindly  with 
the  captain  ? 

FAG.  As  fond  as  pigeons. 

THOS.  May  one  hear  her  name  ? 

FAG.  Miss  Lydia  Languish.  But  there  is  an  old 
tough  aunt  in  the  way  ;  though,  by-the-bye,  she  has 
never  seen  my  master — for  we  got  acquainted  with 
miss  while  on  a  visit  in  Gloucestershire. 

THOS.  Well — I  wish  they  were  once  harnessed  to- 
gether in  matrimony.  But  pray,  Mr.  Fag,  what  kind 
of  a  place  is  this  Bath  ?  I  ha'  heard  a  deal  of  it — here's 
a  mort  o'  merry-making,  hey  ? 

FAG.  Pretty  well,  Thomas,  pretty  well — 'tis  a  good 
lounge.  In  the  morning  we  go  to  the  pump-room 
(though  neither  my  master  nor  I  drink  the  waters)  ; 
after  breakfast  we  saunter  on  the  parades,  or  play  a 
game  at  billiards  ;  at  night  we  dance ;  but  damn  the 
place,  I'm  tired  of  it ;  their  regular  hours  stupefy  me 
— not  a  fiddle  nor  a  card  after  eleven  !  However,  Mr. 
Faulkland's  gentleman  and  I  keep  it  up  a  little  in 


SC.    I.]  THE     RIVALS. 


private  parties.  I'll  introduce  you  there,  Thomas — 
you'll  like  him  much. 

THOS.  Sure  I  know  Mr.  Du-Peigne — you  know  his 
master  is  to  marry  Madam  Julia. 

FAG.  I  had  forgot.  But,  Thomas,  you  must  polish  a 
little — indeed  you  must.  Here  now — this  wig  !  What 
the  devil  do  you  do  with  a  wig,  Thomas?  None  of  the 
London  whips  of  any  degree  of  ton  wear  wigs  now. 

THOS.  More's  the  pity  !  more's  the  pity !  I  say. 
Odd's  life  !  when  I  heard  how  the  lawyers  and  doctors 
had  took  to  their  own  hair,  I  thought  how  'twould  go 
next.  Odd  rabbit  it !  when  the  fashion  had  got  foot 
on  the  bar,  I  guessed  'twould  mount  to  the  box  ! — but 
'tis  all  out  of  character,  believe  me,  Mr.  Fag :  and 
look'ee,  I'll  never  gi'  up  mine — the  lawyers  and  doctors 
may  do  as  they  will. 

FAG.   Well,  Thomas,  we'll  not  quarrel  about  that. 

THOS.  Why,  bless  you,  the  gentlemen  of  the  pro- 
fessions ben't  all  of  a  mind — for  in  the  village  now, 
tho'ff  Jack  Gauge,  the  exciseman,  has  ta'en  to  his 
carrots,  there's  little  Dick,  the  farrier,  swears  he'll 
never  forsake  his  bob,  though  all  the  college  should 
appear  with  their  own  heads  ! 

FAG.  Indeed  !  well  said,  Dick  !  But  hold — mark  ! 
mark  !  Thomas. 

THOS.  Zooks  !  'tis  the  captain.  Is  that  the  lady  with 
him? 

FAG.  No,  no ;  that  is  Madam  Lucy,  my  master's 
mistress's  maid.  They  lodge  at  that  house — but  I  must 
after  him  to  tell  him  the  news. 

THOS.  Odd  !  he's  giving  her  money  !  Well,  Mr. 
Fag 

FAG.  Good-bye,  Thomas.  I  have  an  appointment  in 
Gyde's  Porch  this  evening  at  eight ;  meet  me  there, 
and  we'll  make  a  little  party.  [Exeunt  severally. 


THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    I. 


SCENE   II. 

A  Dressing-room  in  MRS.  MALAPROP'S  Lodgings. 

LYDIA  sitting  on  a  sofa,  with  a  book  in  her  hand.     LUCY, 
as  just  returned  from  a  message. 

LUCY.  Indeed,  ma'am,  I  traversed  half  the  town  in 
search  of  it :  I  don't  believe  there's  a  circulating  library 
in  Bath  I  ha'n't  been  at. 

LYD.  And  could  not  you  get  The  Reward  of  Constancy? 

LUCY.  No,  indeed,  ma'am. 

LYD.  Nor  The  Fatal  Connexion  ? 

LUCY.  No,  indeed,  ma'am. 

LYD.  Nor  The  Mistakes  of  the  Heart? 

LUCY.  Ma'am,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  Mr.  Bull  said 
Miss  Sukey  Saunter  had  just  fetched  it  away. 

LYD.  Heigh-ho  !  Did  you  inquire  for  The  Delicate 
Distress  ? 

LUCY.  Or,  The  Memoirs  of  Lady  Woodford  ?  Yes,  in- 
deed, ma'am.  I  asked  everywhere  for  it  ;  and  I  might 
have  brought  it  from  Mr.  Frederick's,  but  Lady  Slattern 
Lounger,  who  had  just  sent  it  home,  had  so  soiled  and 
dog's-eared  it,  it  wa'n't  fit  for  a  Christian  to  read. 

LYD.  Heigh-ho  !  Yes,  I  always  know  when  Lady 
Slattern  has  been  before  me.  She  has  a  most  observing 
thumb ;  and,  I  believe,  cherishes  her  nails  for  the  con- 
venience of  making  marginal  notes.  Well,  child,  what 
have  you  brought  me? 

LUCY.  Oh  !  here,  ma'am.  [Taking  books  from  under 
her  cloak,  and  from  her  pockets.]  This  is  The  Gordian 
Knot,  and  this  Peregrine  Pickle.  Here  are  The  Tears  of 
Sensibility,  and  Humphrey  Clinker.  This  is  The  Memoirs 
of  a  Lady  of  Quality,  written  by  herself,  and  here  the 
second  volume  of  The  Sentimental  Journey. 


EC.    II.J  THE     RIVALS.  9 

LYD.  Heigh-ho  !  What  are  those  books  by  the 
glass  ? 

LUCY.  The  great  one  is  only  The  Whole  Duty  of  Man, 
where  I  press  a  few  blonds,  ma'am. 

LYD.  Very  well — give  me  the  sal  volatile. 

LUCY.  Is  it  in  a  blue  cover,  ma'am  ? 

LYD.  My  smelling-bottle,  you  simpleton  ! 

LUCY.  Oh,  the  drops — here,  ma'am. 

LYD.  Hold  !  Here's  some  one  coming — quick,  see 
who  it  is.  [Exit  LUCY.]  Surely  1  heard  my  cousin 
Julia's  voice. 

Re-enter  LUCY. 

LUCY.  Lud  !  ma'am,  here  is  Miss  Melville. 

LYD.  Is  it  possible  ! [Exit  LUCY. 

Enter  JULIA. 

LYD.  My  dearest  Julia,  how  delighted  am  I !  [Em- 
brace.] How  unexpected  was  this  happiness  ! 

JUL.  True,  Lydia,  and  our  pleasure  is  the  greater. 
But  what  has  been  the  matter?  You  were  denied  to 
me  at  first  ! 

LYD.  Ah,  Julia,  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  tell  you  ! 
But  first  inform  me  what  has  conjured  you  to  Bath? 
Is  Sir  Anthony  here  ? 

JUL.  He  is — we  are  arrived  within  this  hour — and 
I  suppose  he  will  be  here  to  wait  on  Mrs.  Malaprop 
as  soon  as  he  is  dressed. 

LYD.  Then  before  we  are  interrupted,  let  me  impart 
to  you  some  of  my  distress  !  I  know  your  gentle  nature 
will  sympathise  with  me,  though  your  prudence  may 
condemn  me  !  My  letters  have  informed  you  of  my 
whole  connection  with  Beverley  ;  but  I  have  lost  him, 
Julia  !  My  aunt  has  discovered  our  intercourse  by  a 


10  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    I. 


note  she  intercepted,  and  has  confined  me  ever  since  ! 
Yet,  would  you  believe  it  ?  she  has  absolutely  fallen  in 
love  with  a  tall  Irish  baronet  she  met  one  night  since 
we  have  been  here,  at  Lady  Macshuffle's  rout. 

JUL.  You  jest,  Lydia  ! 

LYD.  No,  upon  my  word.  She  really  carries  on  a 
kind  of  correspondence  with  him,  under  a  feigned  name 
though,  till  she  chooses  to  be  known  to  him  ;  but  it  is 
a  Delia  or  a  Celia,  I  assure  you. 

JUL.  Then,  surely,  she  is  now  more  indulgent  to  her 
niece. 

LYD.  Quite  the  contrary.  Since  she  has  discovered 
her  own  frailty,  she  is  become  more  suspicious  of  mine. 
Then  I  must  inform  you  of  another  plague  !  That 
odious  Acres  is  to  be  in  Bath  to-day ;  so  that  I  protest 
I  shall  be  teased  out  of  all  spirits  ! 

JUL.  Come,  come,  Lydia,  hope  for  the  best — Sir 
Anthony  shall  use  his  interest  with  Mrs.  Malaprop. 

LYD.  But  you  have  not  heard  the  worst.  Unfortu- 
nately I  had  quarrelled  with  my  poor  Beverley,  just  be- 
fore my  aunt  made  the  discovery,  and  I  have  not  seen 
him  since,  to  make  it  up. 

JUL.  What  was  his  offence  ? 

LYD.  Nothing  at  all  !  But,  I  don't  know  how  it  was, 
as  often  as  we  had  been  together,  we  had  never  had  a 
quarrel,  and,  somehow,  I  was  afraid  he  would  never 
give  me  an  opportunity.  So,  last  Thursday,  I  wrote  a 
letter  to  myself,  to  inform  myself  that  Beverley  was  at 
that  time  paying  his  addresses  to  another  woman.  I 
signed  it  your  friend  unknown,  showed  it  to  Beverley, 
charged  him  with  his  falsehood,  put  myself  in  a  violent 
passion,  and  vowed  I'd  never  see  him  more. 

JUL.  And  you  let  him  depart  so,  and  have  not  seen 
him  since  ? 

LYD.  'Twas  the  next  day  my  aunt  found  the  matter 


SC.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  11 


out.  I  intended  only  to  have  teased  him  three  days  and 
a  half,  and  now  I've  lost  him  for  ever. 

JUL.  If  he  is  as  deserving  and  sincere  as  you  have 
represented  him  to  me,  he  will  never  give  you  up  so. 
Yet,  consider,  Lydia,  you  tell  me  he  is  but  an  ensign, 
and  you  have  thirty  thousand  pounds. 

LYD.  But  you  know  I  lose  most  of  my  fortune  if  I 
marry  without  my  aunt's  consent,  till  of  age  ;  and  that 
is  what  I  have  determined  to  do,  ever  since  I  knew  the 
penalty.  Nor  could  I  love  the  man,  who  would  wish  to 
wait  a  day  for  the  alternative. 

JfL.  Nay,  this  is  caprice  ! 

LYD.  What!  does  Julia  tax  me  with  caprice?  I 
thought  her  lover  Faulkland  had  inured  her  to  it. 

JUL.  I  do  not  love  even  his  faults. 

LYD.  But  apropos — you  have  sent  to  him,  I  suppose  ? 

JUL.  Not  yet,  upon  my  word — nor  has  he  the  least 
idea  of  my  being  in  Bath.  Sir  Anthony's  resolution 
was  so  sudden,  I  could  not  inform  him  of  it. 

LYD.  Well,  Julia,  you  are  your  own  mistress  (though 
under  the  protection  of  Sir  Anthony),  yet  have  you,  for 
this  long  year,  been  a  slave  to  the  caprice,  the  whim, 
the  jealousy  of  this  ungrateful  Faulkland,  who  will  ever 
delay  assuming  the  right  of  a  husband  while  you  suffer 
him  to  be  equally  imperious  as  a  lover. 

JUL.  Nay,  you  are  wrong  entirely.  We  were  con- 
tracted before  my  father's  death.  That,  and  some 
consequent  embarrassments,  have  delayed  what  I  know 
to  be  my  Faulklaud's  most  ardent  wish.  He  is  too 
generous  to  trifle  on  such  a  point :  and  for  his  char- 
acter, you  wrong  him  there  too.  No,  Lydia,  he  is  too 
proud,  too  noble  to  be  jealous  ;  if  he  is  captious,  'tis 
without  dissembling ;  if  fretful,  without  rudeness. 
Unused  to  the  fopperies  of  love,  he  is  negligent  of  the 
little  duties  expected  from  a  lover — but  being  unhack- 


12  THE     RIVALS.  [A <TT   I. 


neyed  in  the  passion,  his  affection  is  ardent  and  sincere ; 
and  as  it  engrosses  his  whole  soul,  he  expects  every 
thought  and  emotion  of  his  mistress  to  move  in  unison 
with  his.  Yet,  though  his  pride  calls  for  this  full  return, 
his  humility  makes  him  undervalue  those  qualities  in 
him  which  would  entitle  him  to  it ;  and  not  feeling  why 
he  should  be  loved  to  the  degree  he  wishes,  he  still 
suspects  that  he  is  not  loved  enough.  This  temper,  I 
must  own,  has  cost  me  many  unhappy  hours  ;  but  I  have 
learned  to  think  myself  his  debtor  for  those  imper- 
fections which  arise  from  the  ardour  of  his  attachment. 

LYD.  Well,  I  cannot  blame  you  for  defending  him. 
But  tell  me  candidly,  Julia,  had  he  never  saved  your 
life,  do  you  think  you  should  have  been  attached  to 
him  as  you  are  ?  Believe  me,  the  rude  blast  that  over- 
set your  boat  was  a  prosperous  gale  of  love  to  him. 

JUL.  Gratitude  may  have  strengthened  my  attachment 
to  Mr.  Faulkland,  but  I  loved  him  before  he  had  pre- 
served me ;  yet  surely  that  alone  were  an  obligation 
sufficient. 

LYD.  Obligation  !  why,  a  water  spaniel  would  have 
done  as  much  !  Well,  I  should  never  think  of  giving 
my  heart  to  a  man  because  he  could  swim. 

JUL.  Come,  Lydia,  you  are  too  inconsiderate. 

LYD.  Nay,  I  do  but  jest.     What's  here? 

Re-enter  LUCY  in  a  hurry. 

LUCY.  O  ma'am,  here  is  Sir  Anthony  Absolute  just 
come  home  with  your  aunt. 

LYD.  They'll  not  come  here.     Lucy,  do  you  watch. 

[Exit  LUCY. 

JUL.  Yet  I  must  go.  Sir  Anthony  does  not  know  I 
am  here,  and  if  we  meet  he'll  detain  me  to  show  me  the 
town.  I'll  take  another  opportunity  of  paying  my 


II.]  THE     RIVALS.  13 


respects  to  Mrs.  Malaprop,  when  she  shall  treat  me,  as 
long  as  she  chooses,  with  her  select  words  so  ingeniously 
misapplied,  without  being  mispronounced. 

Re-enter  LUCY. 

LUCY.  O  Lud  !  ma'am,  they  are  both  coming  upstairs. 

LYD.  Well,  I'll  not  detain  you,  coz.  Adieu,  my  dear 
Julia,  I'm  sure  you  are  in  haste  to  send  to  Faulkland. 
There — through  my  room  you'll  find  another  stair- 
case. 

JUL.  Adieu  !  [Embraces  LYDIA,  and  exit. 

LYD.  Here,  my  dear  Lucy,  hide  these  books.  Quick, 
quick.  Fling  Peregrine  Pickle  under  the  toilet — throw 
Roderick  Random  into  the  closet — put  The  Innocent 
Adultery  into  The  Whole  Duty  of  Man — thrust  Lord 
Aimworth  under  the  sofa,  cram  Ovid  behind  the  bolster 
— there — put  The  Man  of  Feeling  into  your  pocket — so, 
so — now  lay  Mrs.  Chapone  in  sight,  and  leave  Fordyce's 
Sermons  open  on  the  table. 

LUCY.  Oh,  burn  it,  ma'am  !  the  hairdresser  has  torn 
away  as  far  as  Proper  Pride. 

LYD.  Never  mind— open  at  Sobriety.  Fling  me  Lord 
Chesterfield's  Letters.  Now  for  'em.  [Exit  LUCY. 

Enter  MRS.  MALAPROP  and  SIR  ANTHONY  ABSOLUTE. 

MRS.  MAL.  There,  Sir  Anthony,  there  sits  the  deli- 
berate simpleton  who  wants  to  disgrace  her  family,  and 
lavish  herself  on  a  fellow  not  worth  a  shilling. 

LYD.  Madam,  I  thought  you  once 

MRS.  MAL.  You  thought,  miss  !  I  don't  know  any 
business  you  have  to  think  at  all — thought  does  not 
become  a  young  woman.  But  the  point  we  would 
request  of  you  is,  that  you  will  promise  to  forget  this 
fellow — to  illiterate  him,  I  say,  quite  from  your  memory. 


14  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    I. 


LYD.  Ah,  madam  !  our  memories  are  independent  of 
our  wills.  It  is  not  so  easy  to  forget. 

MBS.  MAL.  But  I  say  it  is,  miss ;  there  is  nothing  on 
earth  so  easy  as  to  forget,  if  a  person  chooses  to  set 
about  it.  I'm  sure  I  have  as  much  forgot  your  poor 
dear  uncle  as  if  he  had  never  existed — and  I  thought  it 
my  duty  so  to  do  ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  Lydia,  these 
violent  memories  don't  become  a  young  woman. 

SIR  ANTH.  Why,  sure  she  won't  pretend  to  remember 
what  she's  ordered  not ! — ay,  this  comes  of  her  reading  ! 

LYD.  What  crime,  madam,  have  I  committed,  to  be 
treated  thus? 

MRS.  MAL.  Now  don't  attempt  to  extirpate  yourself 
from  the  matter  ;  you  know  I  have  proof  controvertihle 
of  it.  But  tell  me,  will  you  promise  to  do  as  you're  bid  ? 
Will  you  take  a  husband  of  your  friends'  choosing? 

LYD.  Madam,  I  must  tell  you  plainly,  that  had  I  no 
preference  for  any  one  else,  the  choice  you  have  made 
would  be  my  aversion. 

MRS.  MAL.  What  business  have  you,  miss,  with  pre- 
ference and  aversion?  They  don't  become  a  young 
woman ;  and  you  ought  to  know,  that  as  both  always 
wear  off,  'tis  safest  in  matrimony  to  begin  with  a  little 
aversion.  I  am  sure  I  hated  your  poor  dear  uncle  before 
marriage  as  if  he'd  been  a  blackamoor — and  yet,  miss, 
you  are  sensible  what  a  wife  I  made  !  And  when  it 
pleased  Heaven  to  release  me  from  him,  'tis  unknown 
what  tears  I  shed  !  But  suppose  we  were  going  to  give 
you  another  choice,  will  you  promise  us  to  give  up  this 
Beverley  ? 

LYD.  Could  I  belie  my  thoughts  so  far  as  to  give  that 
promise,  my  actions  would  certainly  as  far  belie  my 
words. 

MRS.  MAL.  Take  yourself  to  your  room.  You  are  fit 
company  for  nothing  but  your  own  ill-humours. 


SC.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  15 


LYD.  Willingly,  ma'am  —  I  cannot  change  for  the 
worse.  [Exit. 

MRS.  MAL.  There's  a  little  intricate  hussy  for  you  ! 

SIR  ANTH.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  ma'am — all  this 
is  the  natural  consequence  of  teaching  girls  to  read. 
Had  I  a  thousand  daughters,  by  Heaven  !  I'd  as  soon 
have  them  taught  the  black  art  as  their  alphabet ! 

MRS.  MAL.  Nay,  nay,  Sir  Anthony,  you  are  an  absolute 
misanthropy. 

SIR  ANTH.  In  my  way  hither,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  I  observed 
your  niece's  maid  coming  forth  from  a  circulating  library ! 
She  had  a  book  in  each  hand — they  were  half-bound 
volumes,  with  marble  covers  !  From  that  moment  I 
guessed  how  full  of  duty  I  should  see  her  mistress  ! 

MRS.  MAL.  Those  are  vile  places  indeed  ! 

SIR  ANTH.  Madam,  a  circulating  library  in  a  town 
is  as  an  evergreen  tree  of  diabolical  knowledge  !  Jt 
blossoms  through  the  year  !  And  depend  on  it,  Mrs. 
Malaprop,  that  they  who  are  so  fond  of  handling  the 
leaves,  will  long  for  the  fruit  at  last. 

MRS.  MAL.  Fy,  fy,  Sir  Anthony!  you  surely  speak 
laconically. 

SIR  ANTH.  Why,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  in  moderation  now, 
what  would  you  have  a  woman  know  ? 

MRS.  MAL.  Observe  me,  Sir  Anthony.  I  would  by  no 
means  wish  a  daughter  of  mine  to  be  a  progeny  of 
learning ;  I  don't  think  so  much  learning  becomes  a 
young  woman  ;  for  instance,  I  would  never  let  her 
meddle  with  Greek,  or  Hebrew,  or  algebra,  or  simony, 
or  fluxions,  or  paradoxes,  or  such  inflammatory  branches 
of  learning — neither  would  it  be  necessary  for  her  to 
handle  any  of  your  mathematical,  astronomical,  dia- 
bolical instruments.  But,  Sir  Anthony,  I  would  send 
her,  at  nine  years  old,  to  a  boarding-school,  in  order  to 
learn  a  little  ingenuity  and  artifice.  Then,  sir,  she 


16  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    I. 


should  have  a  supercilious  knowledge  in  accounts  ;  and 
as  she  grew  up  I  would  have  her  instructed  in  geometry, 
that  she  might  know  something  of  the  contagious 
countries  ;  but  above  all,  Sir  Anthony,  she  should  be 
mistress  of  orthodoxy,  that  she  might  not  misspell  and 
mispronounce  words  so  shamefully  as  girls  usually  do  ; 
and  likewise  that  she  might  reprehend  the  true  meaning 
of  what  she  is  saying.  This,  Sir  Anthony,  is  what  I 
would  have  a  woman  know  ;  and  I  don't  think  there  is  a 
superstitious  article  in  it. 

SIB  ANTH.  Well,  well,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  I  will  dispute 
the  point  no  further  with  you  ;  though  I  must  confess 
that  you  are  a  truly  moderate  and  polite  arguer,  for 
almost  every  third  word  you  say  is  on  my  side  of  the 
question.  But,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  to  the  more  important 
point  in  debate — you  say  you  have  no  objection  to  my 
proposal  ? 

MRS.  MAL.  None,  I  assure  you.  I  am  under  no  positive 
engagement  with  Mr.  Acres,  and  as  Lydia  is  so  obstinate 
against  him,  perhaps  your  son  may  have  better  success. 

SIR  ANTH.  Well,  madam,  I  will  write  for  the  boy 
directly.  He  knows  not  a  syllable  of  this  yet,  though  I 
have  for  some  time  had  the  proposal  in  my  head.  He  is 
at  present  with  his  regiment. 

MRS.  MAL.  We  have  never  seen  your  son,  Sir  Anthony ; 
but  I  hope  no  objection  on  his  side. 

SIR  ANTH.  Objection  !  —  let  him  object  if  he  dare! 
No,  no,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  Jack  knows  that  the  least 
demur  puts  me  in  a  frenzy  directly.  My  process  was 
always  very  simple  —  in  their  younger  days,  'twas 
"Jack,  do  this";  if  he  demurred,  I  knocked  him 
down,  and  if  he  grumbled  at  that,  I  always  sent  him 
out  of  the  room. 

MRS.  MAL.  Ay,  and  the  properest  way,  o'  my  con- 
science ! — nothing  is  so  conciliating  to  young  people  as 


SC.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  17 


severity.  Well,  Sir  Anthony,  I  shall  give  Mr.  Acres  his 
discharge,  and  prepare  Lydia  to  receive  your  son's  invo- 
cations ;  and  I  hope  you  will  represent  her  to  the  captain 
as  an  object  not  altogether  illegible. 

SIB  ANTH.  Madam,  I  will  handle  the  subject  prudently. 
Well,  I  must  leave  you ;  and  let  me  beg  you,  Mrs. 
Malaprop,  to  enforce  this  matter  roundly  to  the  girl. 
Take  my  advice — keep  a  tight  hand.  If  she  rejects  this 
proposal,  clap  her  under  lock  and  key  ;  and  if  you  were 
just  to  let  the  servants  forget  to  bring  her  dinner  for 
three  or  four  days,  you  can't  conceive  how  she'd  come 
about.  [Exit. 

MRS.  MAL.  Well,  at  any  rate  I  shall  be  glad  to  get  her 
from  under  my  intuition.  She  has  somehow  discovered 
my  partiality  for  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger — sure,  Lucy  can't 
have  betrayed  me  !  No,  the  girl  is  such  a  simpleton,  I 
should  have  made  her  confess  it.  Lucy  !  Lucy  !  [Calls.] 
Had  she  been  one  of  your  artificial  ones  I  should  never 
have  trusted  her. 

Re-enter  LUCY. 

LUCY.  Did  you  call,  ma'am  ? 

MRS.  MAL.  Yes,  girl.  Did  you  see  Sir  Lucius  while 
you  was  out? 

LUCY.  No,  indeed,  ma'am,  not  a  glimpse  of  him. 

MRS.  MAL.  You  are  sure,  Lucy,  that  you  never  men- 
tioned  

LUCY.  Oh,  gemini  !   I'd  sooner  cut  my  tongue  out. 

MRS.  MAL.  Well,  don't  let  your  simplicity  be  im- 
posed on. 

LUCY.  No,  ma'am. 

MRS.  MAL.  So,  come  to  me  presently,  and  I'll  give  you 
another  letter  to  Sir  Lucius ;  but  mind,  Lucy — if  ever 
you  betray  what  you  are  entrusted  with  (unless  it  be 
other  people's  secrets  to  me),  you  forfeit  my  malevolence 


THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    II. 


for  ever ;  and  your  being  a  simpleton  shall  be  no  excuse 
for  your  locality.  [Exit. 

LUCY.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  So,  my  dear  Simplicity,  let  me 
give  you  a  little  respite.  [Altering  her  manner.]  Let 
girls  in  my  station  be  as  fond  as  they  please  of  appearing 
expert,  and  knowing  in  their  trusts  ;  commend  me  to  a 
mask  of  silliness,  and  a  pair  of  sharp  eyes  for  my  own 
interest  under  it !  Let  me  see  to  what  account  have  I 
turned  my  simplicity  lately.  [Looks  at  a  paper.]  For 
abetting  Miss  Lydia  Languish  in  a  design  of  running  away 
with  an  ensign! — in  money,  sundry  times,  twelve  pound 
twelve;  gowns,  five;  hats,  ruffles,  caps,  c^c.  §c.,  number- 
less! From  the  said  ensign,  within  this  last  month,  six 
guineas  and  a  half—  about  a  quarter's  pay  !  Item,  front 
Mrs.  Malaprop,  for  betraying  the  young  people  to  her — 
when  I  found  matters  were  likely  to  be  discovered — 
two  guineas  and  a  black  paduasoy.  Item,  from  Mr.  Acres, 
for  carrying  divers  letters — which  I  never  delivered — 
two  guineas,  and  a  pair  of  buckles.  Item,  from  Sir 
Lucius  0' Trigger,  three  crowns,  two  gold  pocket-pieces,  and 
a  silver  snuff-box  !  Well  done,  Simplicity  !  Yet  I  was 
forced  to  make  my  Hibernian  believe  that  he  was  corre- 
sponding, not  with  the  aunt,  but  with  the  niece  :  for 
though  not  over  rich,  I  found  he  had  too  much  pride 
and  delicacy  to  sacrifice  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman  to 
the  necessities  of  his  fortune.  [Exit. 


ACT  THE   SECOND. 
SCENE  I. 

CAPTAIN    ABSOLUTE'S    Lodgings. 

CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE  and  FA«. 

FAG.  Sir,  while  I  was  there  Sir  Anthony  came  in  :  I 
told  him  you  had  sent  me  to  inquire  after  his  health, 
and  to  know  if  he  was  at  leisure  to  see  you. 


I.J  THE     RIVALS.  19 


ABS.  And  what  did  he  say,  on  hearing  I  was  at 
Bath  ? 

FAG.  Sir,  in  my  life  I  never  saw  an  elderly  gentleman 
more  astonished  !  He  started  back  two  or  three  paces, 
rapped  out  a  dozen  interjectural  oaths,  and  asked  what 
the  devil  had  brought  you  here. 

ABS.  Well,  sir,  and  what  did  you  say  ? 

FAG.  Oh,  I  lied,  sir — 1  forget  the  precise  lie  ;  but  you 
may  depend  on't  he  got  no  truth  from  me.  Yet,  with 
submission,  for  fear  of  blunders  in  future,  I  should  be 
glad  to  fix  what  has  brought  us  to  Bath,  in  order  that 
we  may  lie  a  little  consistently.  Sir  Anthony's  servants 
were  curious,  sir,  very  curious  indeed. 

ABS.  You  have  said  nothing  to  them  ? 

FAG.  Oh,  not  a  word,  sir— not  a  word  !  Mr.  Thomas, 
indeed,  the  coachman  (whom  I  take  to  be  the  discreetest 
of  whips) 

ABS.  'Sdeath  ! — you  rascal  !  you  have  not  trusted  him  ! 

FAG.  Oh  no,  sir. — no — no — not  a  syllable,  upon  my 
veracity  !  He  was,  indeed,  a  little  inquisitive  ;  but  I 
was  sly,  sir — devilish  sly  !  My  master  (said  I),  honest 
Thomas  (you  know,  sir,  one  says  honest  to  one's 
inferiors),  is  come  to  Bath  to  recruit — Yes,  sir,  I  said  to 
recruit — and  whether  for  men,  money,  or  constitution, 
you  know,  sir,  is  nothing  to  him,  nor  any  one  else. 

ABS.  Well,  recruit  will  do — let  it  be  so. 

FAG.  O  sir,  recruit  will  do  surprisingly — indeed,  to 
give  the  thing  an  air,  I  told  Thomas  that  your  honour 
had  already  enlisted  five  disbanded  chairmen,  seven 
minority  waiters,  and  thirteen  billiard-markers. 

ABS.   You  blockhead,  never  say  more  than  is  necessary. 

FAG.  I  beg  pardon,  sir — I  beg  pardon — but,  with  sub- 
mission, a  lie  is  nothing  unless  one  supports  it.  Sir, 
whenever  I  draw  on  my  invention  for  a  good  current  lie, 
I  always  forge  indorsements  as  well  as  the  bill. 


20  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    II. 


ABS.  Well,  take  care  you  don't  hurt  your  credit,  by 
offering  too  much  security.  Is  Mr.  Faulkland  returned  ? 

FAG.  He  is  above,  sir,  changing  his  dress. 

ABS.  Can  you  tell  whether  he  has  been  informed  of 
Sir  Anthony  and  Miss  Melville's  arrival  ? 

FAG.  I  fancy  not,  sir  ;  he  has  seen  no  one  since  he 
came  in  but  his  gentleman,  who  was  with  him  at 
Bristol.  I  think,  sir,  I  hear  Mr.  Faulkland  coming 
down 

ABS.  Go,  tell  him  I  am  here. 

FAG.  Yes,  sir.  [Going.]  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  should 
Sir  Anthony  call,  you  will  do  me  the  favour  to  remember 
that  we  are  recruiting,  if  you  please. 

ABS.  Well,  well. 

FAG.  Arid  in  tenderness  to  my  character,  if  your 
honour  could  bring  in  the  chairmen  and  waiters,  I 
should  esteem  it  as  an  obligation  ;  for  though  I  never 
scruple  a  lie  to  serve  my  master,  yet  it  hurts  one's  con- 
science to  be  found  out.  [Exit. 

ABS.  Now  for  my  whimsical  friend ;  if  he  does  not 
know  that  his  mistress  is  here,  I'll  tease  him  a  little 
before  I  tell  him. 

Enter  FAULKLAND. 

Faulkland,  you're  welcome  to  Bath  again  ;  you  are 
punctual  in  your  return. 

FAULK.  Yes  ;  I  had  nothing  to  detain  me,  when  I  had 
finished  the  business  I  went  on.  Well,  what  news  since 
I  left  you  ?  How  stand  matters  between  you  and  Lydia  ? 

ABS.  Faith,  much  as  they  were.  I  have  not  seen  her 
since  our  quarrel ;  however,  I  expect  to  be  recalled 
every  hour. 

FAULK.  Why  don't  you  persuade  her  to  go  off  with  you 
at  once  ? 

ABS.  What,  and  lose  two-thirds  of  her  fortune  ?     You 


SC.    I.J  THE     RIVALS.  21 


forget  that,  my  friend.  No,  no,  I  could  have  brought 
her  to  that  long  ago. 

FAULK.  Nay,  then,  you  trifle  too  long  ;  if  you  are  sure 
of  her,  propose  to  the  aunt  in  your  own  character,  and 
write  to  Sir  Anthony  for  his  consent. 

ABS.  Softly,  softly  ;  for  though  I  am  convinced  my 
little  Lydia  would  elope  with  me  as  Ensign  Beverley, 
yet  am  I  by  no  means  certain  that  she  would  take  me 
with  the  impediment  of  our  friends'  consent,  a  regular 
humdrum  wedding,  and  the  reversion  of  a  good  fortune 
on  my  side — no,  no  ;  I  must  prepare  her  gradually  for 
the  discovery,  and  make  myself  necessary  to  her,  before 
I  risk  it.  Well,  but  Faulkland,  you'll  dine  with  us  to- 
day at  the  hotel  ? 

FAULK.  Indeed  I  cannot ;  I  am  not  in  spirits  to  be  of 
such  a  party. 

ABS.  By  heavens  !  I  shall  forswear  your  company. 
You  are  the  most  teasing,  captious,  incorrigible  lover  ! 
Do  love  like  a  man. 

FAULK.   I  own  I  am  unfit  for  company. 

ABS.  Am  not  I  a  lover ;  ay,  and  a  romantic  one  too  ? 
Yet  do  I  carry  everywhere  with  me  such  a  confounded 
farrago  of  doubts,  fears,  hopes,  wishes,  and  all  the 
flimsy  furniture  of  a  country  miss's  brain? 

FAULK.  Ah  !  Jack,  your  heart  and  soul  are  not,  like 
mine,  fixed  immutably  on  one  only  object.  You  throw 
for  a  large  stake,  but  losing,  you  could  stake  and  throw 
again  ;  but  1  have  set  my  sum  of  happiness  on  this  cast, 
and  not  to  succeed,  were  to  be  stripped  of  all. 

ABS.  But,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  what  grounds  for  appre- 
hension can  your  whimsical  brain  conjure  up  at  present? 

FAULK.  What  grounds  for  apprehension,  did  you  say  ? 
Heavens  !  are  there  not  a  thousand  ?  I  fear  for  her 
spirits,  her  health,  her  life.  My  absence  may  fret  her ; 
her  anxiety  for  my  return,  her  fears  for  me  may  oppress 


22  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT   II. 


her  gentle  temper:  and  for  her  health,  does  not  every 
hour  bring  me  cause  to  be  alarmed  ?  Tf  it  rains,  some 
shower  may  even  then  have  chilled  her  delicate  frame ! 
If  the  wind  be  keen,  some  rude  blast  may  have  affected 
her  !  The  heat  of  noon,  the  dews  of  the  evening,  may 
endanger  the  life  of  her  for  whom  only  I  value  mine. 
O  Jack  !  when  delicate  and  feeling  souls  are  separated, 
there  is  not  a  feature  in  the  sky,  not  a  movement  of  the 
elements,  not  an  aspiration  of  the  breeze,  but  hints  some 
cause  for  a  lover's  apprehension  ! 

ABS.  Ay,  but  we  may  choose  whether  we  will  take  the 
hint  or  not.  So  then,  Faulkland,  if  you  were  convinced 
that  Julia  were  well  and  in  spirits,  you  would  be  en- 
tirely content? 

FAULK.  I  should  be  happy  beyond  measure.  I  am 
anxious  only  for  that. 

ABS.  Then  to  cure  your  anxiety  at  once — Miss  Mel- 
ville is  in  perfect  health,  and  is  at  this  moment  in  Bath. 

FAULK.  Nay,  Jack — don't  trifle  with  me. 

ABS.  She  is  arrived  here  with  my  father  within  this 
hour. 

FAULK.  Can  you  be  serious? 

ABS.  I  thought  you  knew  Sir  Anthony  better  than  to 
be  surprised  at  a  sudden  whim  of  this  kind.  Seriously, 
then,  it  is  as  I  tell  you — upon  my  honour. 

FAULK.  My  dear  friend  !  Hollo,  Du  Peigne  !  my  hat. 
My  dear  Jack,  now  nothing  on  earth  can  give  me  a 
moment's  uneasiness. 

Re-enter  FAQ. 

FAG.  Sir,  Mr.  Acres,  just  arrived,  is  below. 

ABS.  Stay,  Faulkland,  this  Acres  lives  within  a  mile 
of  Sir  Anthony,  and  he  shall  tell  you  how  your  mistress 
has  been  ever  since  you  left  her.  Fag,  show  the  gentle- 
man up.  [Exit  FAG. 


SC.    I.]  THE     RIVALS.  23 


FAULK.  What,  is  he  much  acquainted  in  the  family? 

ABS.  Oh,  very  intimate  :  I  insist  on  your  not  going ; 
besides,  his  character  will  divert  you. 

FAULK.  Well,  I  should  like  to  ask  him  a  few  questions. 

ABS.  He  is  likewise  a  rival  of  mine — that  is,  of  my 
other  self's,  for  he  does  not  think  his  friend,  Captain . 
Absolute,    ever   saw  the  lady   in   question ;    and   it    is 
ridiculous  enough  to  hear  him  complain  to  me  of  one 
Beverley,  a  concealed,  skulking  rival,  who 

FAULK.  Hush  !  he's  here. 

Enter  ACRES. 

ACRES.  Ha !  my  dear  friend,  noble  captain,  and 
honest  Jack,  how  do'st  thou  ?  Just  arrived,  faith,  as 
you  see.  Sir,  your  humble  servant.  Warm  work  on 
the  roads,  Jack  !  Odds  whips  and  wheels !  I've 
travelled  like  a  comet,  with  a  tail  of  dust  all  the  way 
as  long  as  the  Mall. 

ABS.  Ah !  Bob,  you  are  indeed  an  eccentric  planet, 
but  we  know  your  attraction  hither.  Give  me  leave  to 
introduce  Mr.  Faulkland  to  you ;  Mr.  Faulkland,  Mr. 
Acres. 

ACRES.  Sir,  I  am  most  heartily  glad  to  see  you  :  sir, 
I  solicit  your  connections.  Hey,  Jack — what,  this  is 
Mr.  Faulkland,  who 

ABS.  Ay,  Bob,  Miss  Melville's  Mr.  Faulkland. . 

ACRES.  Oddso  !  she  and  your  father  can  be  but  just 
arrived  before  me.  I  suppose  you  have  seen  them.  Ah, 
Mr.  Faulkland,  you  are  indeed  a  happy  man. 

FAULK.  I  have  not  seen  Miss  Melville  yet,  sir ;  I  hope 
she  enjoyed  full  health  and  spirits  in  Devonshire? 

ACRES.  Never  knew  her  better  in  my  life,  sir — never 
better.  Odds  blushes  and  blooms !  she  has  been  as 
healthy  as  the  German  Spa. 


24  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    II. 


FAULK.  Indeed  !  I  did  hear  that  she  had  been  a  little 
indisposed. 

ACRES.  False,  false,  sir — only  said  to  vex  you  :  quite 
the  reverse,  I  assure  you. 

FAULK.  There,  Jack,  you  see  she  has  the  advantage  of 
me  ;  I  had  almost  fretted  myself  ill. 

ABS.  Now,  are  you  angry  with  your  mistress  for  not 
having  been  sick  ? 

FAULK.  No,  no,  you  misunderstand  me  ;  yet  surely  a 
little  trifling  indisposition  is  not  an  unnatural  con- 
sequence of  absence  from  those  we  love.  Now,  confess 
— isn't  there  something  unkind;  in  this  violent,  robust, 
unfeeling  health  ? 

ABS.  Oh,  it  was  very  unkind  of  her  to  be  well  in 
your  absence,  to  be  sure  ! 

ACRES.  Good  apartments,  Jack. 

FAULK.  Well,  sir,  but  you  was  saying  that  Miss  Mel- 
ville has  been  so  exceedingly  well — what,  then,  she  has 
been  merry  and  gay,  I  suppose  ?  Always  in  spirits,  hey  ? 

ACRES.  Merry,  odds  crickets  !  she  has  been  the  belle 
and  spirit  of  the  company  wherever  she  has  been — so 
lively  and  entertaining  !  so  full  of  wit  and  humour ! 

FAULK.  There,  Jack,  there.  Oh,  by  my  soul !  there 
is  an  innate  levity  in  woman  that  nothing  can  overcome. 
What  !  happy,  and  I  away  ! 

ABS.  Have  done.  How  foolish  this  is  !  just  now  you 
were  only  apprehensive  for  your  mistress's  spirits. 

FAULK.  Why,  Jack,  have  I  been  the  joy  and  spirit  of 
the  company? 

ABS.  No,  indeed,  you  have  not. 

FAULK.  Have  I  been  lively  and  entertaining  ? 

ABS.  Oh,  upon  my  word,  I  acquit  you. 

FAULK.  Have  I  been  full  of  wit  and  humour? 

ABS.  No,  faith,  to  do  you  justice,  you  have  been  con- 
foundedly stupid  indeed. 


SO.    I.]  THE     RIVALS.  25 


ACRES.  What's  the  matter  with  the  gentleman  ? 

ABS.  He  is  only  expressing  his  great  satisfaction  at 
hearing  that  Julia  has  been  so  well  and  happy,  that's 
all — hey,  Faulkland  ? 

FAULK.  Oh  i  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it — yes,  yes,  she 
has  a  happy  disposition  ! 

ACRES.  That  she  has  indeed — then  she  is  so  accom- 
plished— so  sweet  a  voice — so  expert  at  her  harpsichord 
— such  a  mistress  of  flat  and  sharp,  squallante,  rum- 
blante,  and  quiverante  !  There  was  this  time  month — 
odds  minims  and  crotchets  !  how  she  did  chirrup  at 
Mrs.  Piano's  concert ! 

FAULK.  There  again,  what  say  you  to  this  ?  You  see 
she  has  been  all  mirth  and  song — not  a  thought  of  me  ! 

ABS.  Pho  !  man,  is  not  music  the  food  of  love  ? 

FAULK.  Well,  well,  it  may  be  so.  Pray,  Mr.  , 

what's  his  damned  name  ?  Do  you  remember  what 
songs  Miss  Melville  sung? 

ACRES.  Not  I  indeed. 

ABS.  Stay,  now,  they  were  some  pretty  melancholy 
purling-stream  airs,  I  warrant ;  perhaps  you  may  re- 
collect. Did  she  sing,  When  absent  from  my  soul's 
delight? 

ACRES.  No,  that  wa'n't  it. 

ABS.  Or,  Go,  gentle  gales  !  [Sings. 

ACRES.  Oh  no  !  nothing  like  it.  Odds  !  now  I  re- 
collect one  of  them — My  heart's  my  own,  my  will  is 
free.  [Sings. 

FAULK.  Fool  !  fool  that  I  am  !  to  fix  all  my  happine&,_ 
on  such  a  trifler  !  'Sdeath  !  to  make  herself  the  pipe 
and  ballad-monger  of  a  circle  !  to  soothe  her  light 
heart  with  catches  and  glees  !  What  can  you  say  to 
this,  sir? 

ABS.  Why,  that  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  my  mistress 
had  been  so  merry,  sir. 


26  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    II. 


FAULK.  Nay,  nay,  nay — I'm  not  sorry  that  she  has 
heen  happy — no,  no,  I  am  glad  of  that — 1  would  not 
have  had  her  sad  or  sick  ;  yet  surely  a  sympathetic  heart 
would  have  shown  itself  even  in  the  choice  of  a  soug — 
she  might  have  been  temperately  healthy,  and  somehow, 
plaintively  gay — but  she  has  been  dancing  too,  I  doubt 
not! 

ACRES.  What  does  the  gentleman  say  about  danc- 
ing? 

ABS.  He  says  the  lady  we  speak  of  dances  as  well  as 
she  sings. 

ACRES.  Ay,  truly  does  she — there  was  at  our  last  race 
ball 

FAULK.  Hell  and  the  devil !  There  !— there— I  told 
you  so!  I  told  you  so  !  Oh  !  she  thrives  in  my  absence  ! 
Dancing !  but  her  whole  feelings  have  been  in  opposi- 
tion with  mine.  I  have  been  anxious,  silent,  pensive, 
sedentary  —  my  days  have  been  hours  of  care,  my 
nights  of  watchfulness.  She  has  been  all  health ! 
spirit !  laugh  !  song  !  dance  !  Oh  !  damned,  damned 
levity  ! 

ABS.  For  Heaven's  sake,  Fanlkland,  don't  expose 
yourself  so!  Suppose  she  has  danced,  what  then? 
Does  not  the  ceremony  of  society  often  oblige 

FAULK.  Well,  well,  I'll  contain  myself — perhaps  as 
you  say — for  form's  sake.  What,  Mr.  Acres,  you  were 
praising  Miss  Melville's  manner  of  dancing  a  minuet — 
hey? 

ACRES.  Oh,  I  dare  insure  her  for  that — but  what  I 
was  going  to  speak  of  was  her  country-dancing.  Odds 
swimmings  !  she  has  such  an  air  with  her  ! 

FAULK.  Now  disappointment  on  her !  Defend  this, 
Absolute ;  why  don't  you  defend  this  ?  Country- 
dances !  jigs  and  reels!  am  I  to  blame  now?  A 
minuet  I  could  have  forgiven  —  I  should  not  have 


SC.    I.]  THE     RIVALS. 


minded  that  —  I  say  I  should  not  have  regarded  a 
minuet — but  country-dances  !  Zounds:!  had  she  made 
one  in  a  cotillion — I  believe  I  could  have  forgiven  even 
that — but  to  be  monkey-led  for  a  night ! — to  run  the 
gauntlet  through  a  string  of  amorous  palming  puppies  ! 
to  show  paces  like  a  managed  filly  !  O  Jack,  there 
never  can  be  but  one  man  in  the  world  whom  a  truly 
modest  and  delicate  woman  ought  to  pair  with  in  a 
country-dance ;  and,  even  then,  the  rest  of  the  couples 
should  be  her  great-uncles  and  aunts  ! 

ABS.  Ay,  to  be  sure  !  —  grandfathers  and  grand- 
mothers ! 

FAULK.  If  there  be  but  one  vicious  mind  in  the  set, 
'twill  spread  like  a  contagion — the  action  of  their  pulse 
beats  to  the  lascivious  movement  of  the  jig — their  quiver- 
ing, warm-breathed  sighs  impregnate  the  very  air — the 
atmosphere  becomes  electrical  to  love,  and  each  amorous 
spark  darts  through  every  link  of  the  chain  !  I  must 
leave  you.  I  own  I  am  somewhat  flurried — and  that 
confounded  looby  has  perceived  it.  [Going. 

ABS.  Nay,  but  stay,  Faulkland,  and  thank  Mr.  Acres 
for  his  good  news. 

FAU/.K.   Damn  his  news  !  \Earit. 

ABS.  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  poor  Faulkland,  five  minutes 
since — "nothing  on  earth  could  sive  him  a  moment's 
uneasiness  !" 

AC.IES.  The  gentleman  wa'n't  angry  at  my  praising  his 
mistress,  was  he? 

ABS.  A  little  jealous,  I  believe,  Bob. 

ACRES.  You  don't  say  so?  Ha  !  ha  !  jealous  of  me— 
that's  a  good  joke. 

ABS.  There's  nothing  strange  in  that,  Bob ;  let  me 
tell  you,  that  sprightly  grace  and  insinuating  manner  of 
yours  will  do  some  mischief  among  the  girls  here. 

ACRES.    Ah  !   you  joke — ha  !  ha  !  mischief — ha  !  ha  ! 


28  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    II. 


but  you  know  I  am  not  my  own  property,  my  dear  Lydia 
has  forestalled  me.  She  could  never  abide  me  in  the 
country,  because  I  used  to  dress  so  badly — but  odds 
frogs  and  tambours  !  I  shan't  take  matters  so  here,  now 
ancient  madam  has  no  voice  in  it :  I'll  make  my  old 
clothes  know  who's  master.  I  shall  straightway  cashier 
the  hunting-frock,  and  render  my  leather  breeches 
incapable.  My  hair  has  been  in  training  some  time. 

ABS.  Indeed  ! 

ACRES.  Ay — and  tho'ff  the  side  curls  are  a  little 
restive,  my  hind-part  takes  it  very  kindly. 

ABS.  Oh,  you'll  polish,  I  doubt  not. 

ACRES.  Absolutely  I  propose  so — then  if  I  can  find 
out  this  Ensign  Beverley,  odds  triggers  and  flints  !  I'll 
make  him  know  the  difference  o't. 

ABS.  Spoke  like  a  man  !  But  pray,  Bob,  I  observe 
you  have  got  an  odd  kind  of  a  new  method  of  swear- 
ing  

ACRES.  Ha  !  ha  !  you've  taken  notice  of  it — 'tis  genteel, 
isn't  it?  I  didn't  invent  it  myself  though  ;  but  a  com- 
mander in  our  militia,  a  great  scholar,  I  assure  you, 
says  that  there  is  no  meaning  in  the  common  oaths,  and 
that  nothing  but  their  antiquity  makes  them  respectable  ; 
because,  he  says,  the  ancients  would  never  stick  to  an 
oath  or  two,  but  would  say,  by  Jove  !  or  by  Bacchus  ! 
or  by  Mars  !  or  by  Venus  !  or  by  Pallas  !  according  to 
the  sentiment :  so  that  to  swear  with  propriety,  says  my 
little  major,  the  oath  should  be  an  echo  to  the  sense  ; 
and  this  we  call  the  oath  referential,  or  sentimental 
swearing — ha  !  ha  !  'tis  genteel,  isn't  it  ? 

ABS.  Very  genteel,  and  very  new,  indeed  —  and  I 
dare  say  will  supplant  all  other  figures  of  imprecation. 

ACRES.  Ay,  ay,  the  best  terms  will  grow  obsolete. 
Damns  have  hail  their  day. 


I.]  THE     RIVALS.  29 


Re-enter  FAG. 

FAG.  Sir,  there  is  a  gentleman  below  desires  to  see 
you.  Shall  I  show  him  into  the  parlour? 

ABS.  Ay — you  may. 

ACRES.  Well,  I  must  be  gone 

ABS.  Stay  ;  who  is  it,  Fag  ? 

FAG.  Your  father,  sir. 

ABS.  You  puppy,  why  didn't  you  show  him  up 
directly?  [Exit  FAG. 

ACRES.  You  have  business  with  Sir  Anthony.  I 
expect  a  message  from  Mrs.  Malaprop  at  my  lodg- 
ings. I  have  sent  also  to  my  dear  friend,  Sir  Lucius 
O'Trigger.  Adieu,  Jack  !  we  must  meet  at  night, 
when  you  shall  give  me  a  dozen  bumpers  to  little 
Lydia. 

ABS.  That  I  will  with  all  my  heart.  [Exit  ACRES.] 
Now  for  a  parental  lecture — I  hope  he  has  heard  nothing 
of  the  business  that  has  brought  me  here — I  wish  the 
gout  had  held  him  fast  in  Devonshire,  with  all  my  soul  ! 

Enter  SIR  ANTHONY  ABSOLUTE. 

Sir,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  here  looking  so  well  ! 
Your  sudden  arrival  at  Bath  made  me  apprehensive  for 
your  health. 

SIR  ANTH.  Very  apprehensive,  I  dare  say,  Jack. 
What,  you  are  recruiting  here,  hey? 

ABS.  Yes,  sir,  I  am  on  duty. 

SIR  ANTH.  Well,  Jack,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  though  I 
did  not  expect  it,  for  I  was  going  to  write  to  you  on  a 
little  matter  of  business.  Jack,  I  have  been  considering 
that  I  grow  old  and  infirm,  and  shall  probably  not 
trouble  you  long. 

ABS.  Pardon  me,   sir,   I    never   saw  you   look   more 


30  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    II. 


strong  and  hearty  ;  and  I  pray  frequently  that  you  may 
continue  so. 

SIB  ANTH.  I  hope  your  prayers  may  be  heard,  with  all 
my  heart.  Well  then,  Jack,  J  have  been  considering 
that  I  am  so  strong  and  hearty  I  may  continue  to  plague 
you  a  long  time.  Now,  Jack,  I  am  sensible  that  the 
income  of  your  commission,  and  what  I  have  hitherto 
allowed  you,  is  but  a  small  pittance  for  a  lad  of  your 
spirit. 

ABS.  Sir,  you  are  very  good. 

SIB  ANTH.  And  it  is  my  wish,  while  yet  I  live,  to  have 
my  boy  make  some  figure  in  the  world.  1  have  resolved, 
therefore,  to  fix  you  at  once  in  a  noble  independence. 

ABS.  Sir,  your  kindness  overpowers  me  —  such 
generosity  makes  the  gratitude  of  reason  more  lively 
than  the  sensations  even  of  filial  affection. 

SIB  ANTH.  I  am  glad  you  are  so  sensible  of  my  atten- 
tion— and  you  shall  be  master  of  a  large  estate  in  a  few 
weeks. 

ABS.  Let  my  future  life,  sir,  speak  my  gratitude  ;  I 
cannot  express  the  sense  I  have  of  your  munificence. 
Yet,  sir,  I  presume  you  would  not  wish  me  to  quit  the 
army? 

SIB  ANTH.  Oh,  that  shall  be  as  your  wife  chooses. 

Aus.   My  wife,  sir  ! 

SIB  ANTH.  Ay,  ay,  settle  that  between  you — settle  that 
between  you. 

ABS.  A  wife,  sir,  did  you  say  ? 

SIB  ANTH.  Ay,  a  wife — why,  did  I  not  mention  her 
before  ? 

ABS.  Not  a  word  of  her,  sir. 

SIB  ANTH.  Odd  so  ! — I  mustn't  forget  her  though. 
Yes,  Jack,  the  independence  I  was  talking  of  is  by  a 
marriage — the  fortune  is  saddled  with  a  wife — but  i 
suppose  that  makes  no  diiference. 


SC.    I.]  THE     RIVALS. 


ABS.   Sir  !  sir  ! — you  amaze  me  ! 

SIR  ANTH.  Why,  what  the  devil's  the  matter  with  the 
fool  ?  Just  now  you  were  all  gratitude  and  duty. 

ABS.  I  was,  sir ;  you  talked  to  me  of  independence 
and  a  fortune,  but  not  a  word  of  a  wife. 

SIR  ANTH.  Why — what  difference  does  that  make? 
Odds  life,  sir  !  if  you  have  the  estate,  you  must  take  it 
with  the  live  stock  on  it,  as  it  stands. 

ABS.  If  my  happiness  is  to  be  the  price,  I  must  beg 
leave  to  decline  the  purchase.  1'ray,  sir,  who  is  the 
lady? 

SIR  ANTH.  What's  that  to  you,  sir?  Come,  give  me 
your  promise  to  love,  and  to  marry  her  directly. 

ABS.  Sure,  sir,  this  is  not  very  reasonable,  to  summon 
my  affections  for  a  lady  I  know  nothing  of! 

SIR  ANTH.  I  am  sure,  sir,  'tis  more  unreasonable  in 
you  to  object  to  a  lady  you  know  nothing  of. 

ABS.  Then,  sir,  I  must  tell  you  plainly  that  my  in- 
clinations are  fixed  on  another — my  heart  is  engaged  to 
an  angel. 

SIR  ANTH.  Then  pray  let  it  send  an  excuse.  It  is 
very  sorry — but  business  prevents  its  waiting  on  her. 

ABS.   But  my  vows  are  pledged  to  her. 

SIR  ANTH.  Let  her  foreclose,  Jack  ;  let  her  foreclose  ; 
they  are  not  worth  redeeming.  Besides,  you  have  the 
angel's  vows  in  exchange,  I  suppose  ;  so  there  can  be 
no  loss  there. 

ABS.  You  must  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  tell  you,  once  for 
all,  that  in  this  point  I  cannot  obey  you. 

SIR  ANTH.  Hark'ee,  Jack  ;  I  have  heard  you  for  some 
time  with  patience — I  have  been  cool — quite  cool ;  but 
take  care.  You  know  I  am  compliance  itself — when  I 
am  not  thwarted ;  no  one  more  easily  led — when  I 
have  my  own  way  ;  but  don't  put  me  in  a  frenzy. 

ABS.  Sir,  I  must  repeat  it — in  this  I  cannot  obey  you. 


32  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    II. 


SIR  ANTH.  Now  damn  me  !  if  ever  I  call  you  Jack 
again  while  I  live  ! 

ABS.  Nay,  sir,  but  hear  me. 

SIR  ANTH.  Sir,  I  won't  hear  a  word — not  a  word  !  not 
one  word  !  So  give  me  your  promise  by  a  nod — and  I'll 
tell  you  what,  Jack — I  mean,  you  dog — if  you  don't, 
by 

ABS.  What,  sir,  promise  to  link  myself  to  some  mass 
of  ugliness  !  to 

SIR  ANTH.  Zounds  !  sirrah  !  the  lady  shall  be  as  ugly 
as  I  choose  :  she  shall  have  a  hump  on  each  shoulder ; 
she  shall  be  as  crooked  as  the  crescent ;  her  one  eye 
shall  roll  like  the  bull's  in  Cox's  Museum  ;  she  shall 
have  a  skin  like  a  mummy,  and  the  beard  of  a  Jew — 
she  shall  be  all  this,  sirrah  ! — yet  I  will  make  you  ogle 
her  all  day,  and  sit  up  all  night  to  write  sonnets  on  her 
beauty. 

ABS.  This  is  reason  and  moderation  indeed  ! 

SIR  ANTH.  None  of  your  sneering,  puppy  !  no  grin- 
ning, jackanapes ! 

ABS.  Indeed,  sir,  I  never  was  in  a  worse  humour  for 
mirth  in  my  life. 

SIR  ANTH.  'Tis  false,  sir,  I  know  you  are  laughing 
in  your  sleeve ;  I  know  you'll  grin  when  I  am  gone, 
sirrah  ! 

ABS.  Sir,  I  hope  I  know  my  duty  better. 

SIR  ANTH.  None  of  your  passion,  sir  !  none  of  your 
violence,  if  you  please  !  It  won't  do  with  me,  I  promise 
you. 

ABS.  Indeed,  sir,  I  never  was  cooler  in  my  life. 

SIR  ANTH.  'Tis  a  confounded  lie  !  I  know  you  are  in 
a  passion  in  your  heart ;  I  know  you  are,  you  hypo- 
critical young  dog  !  but  it  won't  do. 

ABS.  Nay,  sir,  upon  my  word ' 

SIR  ANTH.  So  you  will  fly  out  !  can't  you  be  cool  like 


SC.    I.]  THE     RIVALS.  S3 


me  ?  What  the  devil  good  can  passion  do  ?  Passion 
is  of  no  service,  you  impudent,  insolent,  overbearing 
reprobate  !  There,  you  sneer  again !  don't  provoke 
me  ! — but  you  rely  upon  the  mildnesf  of  my  temper — 
you  do,  you  dog !  You  play  upon  the  meekness  of  my 
disposition  !  Yet  take  care — the  patience  of  a  saint  may 
be  overcome  at  last !  —but  mark  !  I  give  you  six  hours  and 
a  half  to  consider  of  this  :  if  you  then  agree,  without 
any  condition,  to  do  everything  on  earth  that  I  choose, 
why — confound  you !  I  may  in  time  forgive  you.  If 
not,  zounds !  don't  enter  the  same  hemisphere  with  me ! 
don't  dare  to  breathe  the  same  air,  or  use  the  same  light 
with  me  ;  but  get  an  atmosphere  and  a  sun  of  your  own  ! 
I'll  strip  you  of  your  commission  ;  I'll  lodge  a  five-and- 
threepence  in  the  hands  of  trustees,  and  you  shall  live 
on  the  interest.  I'll  disown  you,  I'll  disinherit  you, 
I'll  unget  you !  and  damn  me  !  if  ever  I  call  you  Jack 
again !  [Exit. 

ABS.gMild/  gentle,  considerate  father— I  kiss  your 
hands !  What  a  tender  method  of  giving  his  opinion  in 
these  matters  Sir  Anthony  has !  I  dare  not  trust  him 
with  the  truth.  I  wonder  what  old  wealthy  hag  it  is 
that  he  wants  to  bestow  on  me  !  Yet  he  married  himself 
for  love,  and  was  in  his  youth  a  bold  intriguer  and  a  gay 
companion ! 

Re-enter  FAG. 

FAG.  Assuredly,  sir,  your  father  is  wrath  to  a  degree  ; 
he  comes  downstairs  eight  or  ten  steps  at  a  time — mutter- 
ing, growling,  and  thumping  the  banisters  all  the  way. 
I  and  the  cook's  dog  stand  bowing  at  the  door — rap  !  he 
gives  me  a  stroke  on  the  head  with  his  cane ;  bids  me 
carry  that  to  my  master  ;  then  kicking  the  poor  turnspit 
into  the  area,  damns  us  all,  for  a  puppy  triumvirate ! 
Upon  my  credit,  sir,  were  1  in  your  place,  and  found 

c 


34  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    II. 


my  father  such  very  bad  company.,  I  should  certainly 
drop  his  acquaintance. 

ABS.  Cease  your  impertinence,  sir,  at  present.      Did 

you  come  in  for  nothing  more  ?     Stand  out  of  the  way  ! 

[Pushes  him  aside,  and  exit. 

FAQ.  So  !  Sir  Anthony  trims  my  master  :  he  is  afraid 
to  reply  to  his  father,  then  vents  his  spleen  on  poor 
Fag !  When  one  is  vexed  by  one  person,  to  revenge 
one's  self  on  another  who  happens  to  come  in  the  way  is 
the  vilest  injustice  !  Ah  !  it  shows  the  worst  temper — 
the  basest 

Enter  Boy. 

BOY.   Mr.  Fag !  Mr.  Fag !  your  master  calls  you. 

FAG.  Well,  you  little  dirty  puppy,  you  'need  not  bawl 
so  t  The  meanest  disposition  !  the 

BOY.  Quick,  quick,  Mr  Fag ! 

FAG.  Quick  !  quick  !  you  impudent  jackanapes !  Am 
I  to  be  commanded  by  you  too,  you  little  impertinent, 

insolent,  kitchen-bred 

[Exit,  kicking  and  beating  him. 

SCENE  IL 

The  North  Parade. 
Enter  LUCY. 

LUCY.  80— I  shall  have  another  rival  t  add  to  my 
mistress's  list — Captain  Absolute.  However,  I  shall  not 
enter  his  name  till  my  purse  has  received  notice  in  form. 
Poor  Acres  is  dismissed  1  Well,  I  have  done  him  a  last 
friendly  office  in  letting  him  know  that  Beverley  was 
here  before  him.  Sir  Lucius  is  generally  more  punctual, 
when  he  expects  to  hear  from  his  dear  Dalia,  as  he  calls 


SC.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  85 


her.  I  wonder  he's  not  here !  I  have  a  little  scruple  of 
conscience  from  this  deceit ;  though  I  should  not  be 
paid  so  well  if  my  hero  knew  that  Delia  was  near  fifty, 
and  her  own  mistress. 

Enter  SIR  Lucius  O'TRIGGER. 

SIR  Luc.  Ha  !  my  little  ambassadress — upon  my 
conscience,  I  have  been  looking  for  you  ;  I  have  been 
on  the  South  Parade  this  half-hour. 

LUCY.  [Speaking  simply.]  Oh,  gemini !  and  I  have  been 
waiting  for  your  worship  here  on  the  North. 

SIR  Luc.  Faith  !  maybe  that  was  the  reason  we  did  not 
meet ;  and  it  is  very  comical,  too,  how  you  could  go  out 
and  I  not  see  you,  for  I  was  only  taking  a  nap  at  the 
Parade  Coffee-house,  and  I  chose  the  window  on  purpose 
that  I  might  not  miss  you. 

LUCY.  My  stars  1  Now  I'd  wager  a  sixpence  I  went 
by  while  you  were  asleep. 

SIR  Luc.  Sure  enough  it  must  have  been  so — and  I 
never  dreamt  it  was  so  late,  till  I  waked.  Well,  but  my 
little  girl,  have  you  got  nothing  for  me  ? 

LUCY.  Yes,  but  I  have — I've  got  a  letter  for  you  in  my 
pocket. 

SIR  Luc.  Oh,  faith  !  I  guessed  you  weren't  come 
empty-handed.  Well,  let  me  see  what  the  dear  creature 
says. 

LUCY.  There,  Sir  Lucius.  [Gives  him  a  letter. 

SIR  Luc.  [Reads.]  Sir, — There  is  often  a  sudden  incen- 
tive impulse  in  love  that  has  a  greater  induction  than 
years  of  domestic  combination  :  such  was  the  commotion  I 
felt  at  the  first  superfluous  view  of  Sir  Lucius  (/Trigger. 
— Very  pretty,  upon  my  word. — Female  punctuation  for- 
bids me  to  say  more ;  yet  let  me  add  that  it  will  give  me 
joy  infallible  to  find  Sir  lAunii*  worthy  the  lust  criterion  of 


36  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    II. 


my  affections. — DELIA.  Upou  my  conscience,  Lucy,  your 
lady  is  a  great  mistress  of  language.  Faith,  she's  quite 
the  queen  of  the  dictionary  ! — for  the  devil  a  word  dare 
refuse  coming  at  her  call — though  one  would  think  it 
was  quite  out  of  hearing. 

LUCY.  Ay,  sir,  a  lady  of  her  experience 

SIB  Luc.  Experience  !  what,  at  seventeen  ? 

LUCY.  Oh,  true,  sir — but  then  she  reads  so — my  stars ! 
how  she  will  read  off-hand  ! 

SIR  Luc.  Faith,  she  must  be  very  deep  read  to  write 
this  way — though  she  is  rather  an  arbitrary  writer  too — 
for  here  are  a  great  many  poor  words  pressed  into  the 
service  of  this  note  that  would  get  their  habeas  corpus 
from  any  court  in  Christendom. 

LUCY.  Ah !  Sir  Lucius,  if  you  were  to  hear  how  she 
talks  of  you ! 

SIR  Luc.  Oh,  tell  her  I'll  make  her  the  best  husband 
in  the  world,  and  Lady  O'Trigger  into  the  bargain  !  But 
we  must  get  the  old  gentlewoman's  consent,  and  do 
everything  fairly. 

LUCY.  Nay,  Sir  Lucius,  I  thought  you  wa'n't  rich 
enough  to  be  so  nice ! 

SIR  Luc.  Upon  my  word,  young  woman,  you  have 
hit  it ;  I  am  so  poor  that  I  can't  afford  to  do  a  dirty 
action.  If  I  did  not  want  money,  I'd  steal  your  mistress 
and  her  fortune  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  However, 
my  pretty  girl  [Gives  her  money],  here's  a  little  some- 
thing to  buy  you  a  ribbon ;  and  meet  me  in  the  evening, 
and  I'll  give  you  an  answer  to  this.  So,  hussy,  take  a 
kiss  beforehand  to  put  you  in  mind.  [Kisses  her. 

LUCY.  O  Lud !  Sir  Lucius  —  I  never  seed  such  a 
gemman !  My  lady  won't  like  you  if  you're  so  im- 
pudent. 

SIR  Luc.  Faith  she  will,  Lucy  !  That  same — pho  ! 
what's  the  name  of  it  ? — modesty — is  a  quality  in  a  lover 


8C.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  37 


more  praised  by  the  women  than  liked ;  so,  if  your 
mistress  asks  you  whether  Sir  Lucius  ever  gave  you  a 
kiss,  tell  her  fifty,  my  dear. 

LUCY.  What,  would  you  have  me  tell  her  a  lie  ? 

SIR  Luc.  Ah,  then,  you  baggage  !  I'll  make  it  a  truth 
presently. 

LUCY.  For  shame  now  !  here  is  some  one  coming. 

SIR  Luc.  Oh,  faith,  I'll  quiet  your  conscience  ! 

[Exit ,  humming  a  tune. 

Enter  FA.O. 

FAG.  So,  so,  ma'am  !     I  humbly  beg  pardon. 

LUCY.  O  Lud  !  now,  Mr.  Fag — you  flurry  one  so. 

FAG.  Come,  come,  Lucy,  here's  no  one  by — so  a  little 
less  simplicity,  with  a  grain  or  two  more  sincerity,  if 
you  please.  You  play  false  with  us,  madam.  I  saw  you 
give  the  baronet  a  letter.  My  master  shall  know  this — 
and  if  he  don't  call  him  out,  I  will. 

LUCY.  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  you  gentlemen's  gentlemen  are 
so  hasty.  That  letter  was  from  Mrs.  Malaprop,  simple- 
ton. She  is  taken  with  Sir  Lucius's  address. 

FAG.  How  !  what  tastes  some  people  have !  Why,  I 
suppose  I  have  walked  by  her  window  a  hundred  times. 
But  what  says  our  young  lady?  Any  message  to  my 
master  ? 

LUCY.  Sad  news,  Mr.  Fag.  A  worse  rival  than  Acres  ! 
Sir  Anthony  Absolute  has  proposed  his  son. 

FAG.  What,  Captain  Absolute? 

LUCY.  Even  so — I  overheard  it  all. 

FAG.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  very  good,  faith  !  Good-bye, 
Lucy,  I  must  away  with  this  news. 

LUCY.  Well,  you  may  laugh — but  it  is  true,  I  assure 
you.  [Going.]  But,  Mr.  Fag,  tell  your  master  not  to 
be  cast  down  by  this. 


38  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    III. 


FAG.  Oh,  he'll  be  so  disconsolate  ! 
LUCY.  And  charge  him  not  to  think  of  quarrelling 
with  young  Absolute. 
FAQ.  Never  fear  !  never  fear  ! 
LUCY.  Be  sure — bid  him  keep  up  his  spirits. 
FAG.  We  will — we  will.  [Exeunt  severally. 


ACT    THE    THIRD. 
SCENE  I. 

The  North  Parade. 
Enter  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE. 

ABS.  'Tis  just  as  Fag  told  me,  indeed.  Whimsical 
enough,  faith  !  My  father  wants  to  force  me  to  marry 
the  very  girl  I  am  plotting  to  run  away  with  !  He  must 
not  know  of  my  connection  with  her  yet  awhile.  He 
has  too  summary  a  method  of  proceeding  in  these 
matters.  However,  I'll  read  my  recantation  instantly. 
My  conversion  iabsomething  sudden,  indeed — but  I  can 
assure  him  it  is  very  sincere.  So,  so — here  he  comes. 
He  looks  plaguy  gruff.  [Slept  aside. 

Enter  SIB  ANTHONY  ABSOLUTE. 

SIB  ANTH.  No — I'll  die  sooner  than  forgive  him.  Die, 
did  I  say  ?  I'll  live  these  fifty  years  to  plague  him.  At 
our  last  meeting  his  impudence  had  almost  put  me  out 
of  temper.  An  obstinate,  passionate,  self-willed  boy  ! 
Who  can  he  take  after  ?  This  is  my  return  for  getting 
him  before  all  his  brothers  and  sisters  ! — for  putting 
him,  at  twelve  years  old,  into  a  marching  regiment,  and 
allowing  him  fifty  pounds  a  year,  besides  his  pay,  ever 


9C.    I.]  THE     RIVALS.  39 


since  !  But  I  have  done  with  him  ;  he's  anybody's  gou 
for  me.  I  never  will  see  him  more,  never — never — 
never. 

ABS.  [Aside,  coming  forward.]  Now  for  a  penitential 
face. 

SIR  ANTH.  Fellow,  get  out  of  my  way  ! 

ABS.  Sir,  you  see  a  penitent  before  you. 

SIR  ANTH.  I  see  an  impudent  scoundrel  before  me. 

ABS.  A  sincere  penitent.  I  am  come,  sir,  to  acknow- 
ledge my  error,  and  to  submit  entirely  to  your  will. 

SIR  ANTH.  What's  that  ? 

ABS.  I  have  been  revolving,  and  reflecting,  and  con 
sidering  on  your  past  goodness,  and  kindness,  and 
condescension  to  me. 

SIR  ANTH.  Well,  sir  ? 

ABS.  I  have  been  likewise  weighing  and  balancing 
what  you  were  pleased  to  mention  concerning  duty,  and 
obedience,  and  authority. 

SIR  ANTH.  Well,  puppy  ? 

ABS.  Why  then,  sir,  the  result  of  my  reflections  is — 
a  resolution  to  sacrifice  every  inclination  of  my  own  to 
your  satisfaction. 

SIR  ANTH.  Why,  now  you  talk  sense — absolute  sense 
— I  never  heard  anything  more  sensible  in  my  life. 
Confound  you  !  you  shall  be  Jack  again. 

ABS.  I  am  happy  in  the  appellation. 

SIR  ANTH.  Why  then,  Jack,  my  dear  Jack,  I  will  now 
inform  you  who  the  lady  really  is.  Nothing  but  your 
passion  and  violence,  you  silly  fellow,  prevented  my 
telling  you  at  first.  Prepare,  Jack,  for  wonder  and 
rapture — prepare.  What  think  you  of  Miss  Lydia 
Languish  ? 

ABS.  Languish  !  What,  the  Languishes  of  Worces- 
tershire ? 

SIR  ANTH.  Worcestershire  !  no.     Did  you  never  meet 


40  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    III. 


Mrs.  Malaprop  and  her  niece,  Miss  Languish,  who  came 
into  our  country  just  before  you  were  last  ordered  to 
your  regiment  ? 

ABS.  Malaprop  !  Languish  !  I  don't  remember  ever 
to  have  heard  the  names  before.  Yet,  stay — I  think  I 
do  recollect  something.  Languish  !  Languish  !  She 
squints,  don't  she  ?  A  little  red-haired  girl  ? 

SIR  ANTH.   Squints  ?   A  red-haired  girl  !   Zounds  !  no. 

ABS.  Then  I  must  have  forgot ;  it  can't  be  the  same 
person. 

SIB  ANTH.  Jack  !  Jack  !  what  think  you  of  blooming 
love-breathing  seventeen  ? 

ABS.  As  to  that,  sir,  I  am  quite  indifferent.  If  I  can 
please  you  in  the  matter,  'tis  all  I  desire. 

SIR  ANTH.  Nay,  but  Jack,  such  eyes  !  such  eyes  !  so 
innocently  wild  !  so  bashfully  irresolute  !  not  a  glance 
but  speaks  and  kindles  some  thought  of  love  !  Then, 
Jack,  her  cheeks  !  her  cheeks,  Jack  !  so  deeply  blushing 
at  the  insinuations  of  her  tell-tale  eyes  !  Then,  Jack, 
her  lips  !  O  Jack,  lips  smiling  at  their  own  discretion  ; 
and  if  not  smiling,  more  sweetly  pouting ;  more  lovely 
in  sullenness ! 

ABS.  That's  she,  indeed.  Well  done,  old  gentle- 
man. [Aside. 

SIR  ANTH.  Then,  Jack,  her  neck  !     O  Jack  !  Jack  ! 

ABS.  And  which  is  to  be  mine,  sir,  the  niece  or  the 
aunt? 

SIR  ANTH.  Why,  you  unfeeling,  insensible  puppy,  I 
despise  you  !  When  I  was  of  your  age,  such  a  descrip- 
tion would  have  made  me  fly  like  a  rocket  !  The  aunt 
indeed  !  Odds  life  !  when  I  ran  away  with  your  mother, 
I  would  not  have  touched  anything  old  or  ugly  to  gain 
an  empire. 

ABS.  Not  to  please  your  father,  sir  ? 

SIR  ANTH.    To    please   my  father  !   zounds  !  not  to 


SC.    I.]  THE     RIVALS.  41 


please Oh,  my  father — odd  so ! — yes — yes  ;  if  my 

father  indeed  had  desired— that's  quite  another  matter. 
Though  he  wa'n't  the  indulgent  father  that  I  am, 
Jack. 

ABS.  I  dare  say  not,  sir. 

SIR  ANTH.  But,  Jack,  you  are  not  sorry  to  find  your 
mistress  is  so  beautiful? 

ABS.  Sir,  I  repeat  it — if  I  please  you  in  this  affair,  'tis 
all  I  desire.  Not  that  I  think  a  woman  the  worse  for 
being  handsome  ;  but,  sir,  if  you  please  to  recollect,  you 
before  hinted  something  about  a  hump  or  two,  one  eye, 
and  a  few  more  graces  of  that  kind.  Now,  without 
being  very  nice,  I  own  I  should  rather  choose  a  wife  of 
mine  to  have  the  usual  number  of  limbs,  and  a  limited 
quantity  of  back  ;  and  though  one  eye  may  be  very 
agreeable,  yet  as  the  prejudice  has  always  run  in  favour 
of  two,  I  would  not  wish  to  affect  a  singularity  in  that 
article. 

SIB  ANTH.  What  a  phlegmatic  sot  it  is !  Why, 
sirrah,  you're  an  anchorite  ! — a  vile,  insensible  stock. 
You  a  soldier  ! — you;re  a  walking  block,  fit  only  to  dust 
the  company's  regimentals  on  !  Odds  life !  I  have  a 
great  mind  to  marry  the  girl  myself. 

ABS.  I  am  entirely  at  your  disposal,  sir.  If  you  should 
think  of  addressing  Miss  Languish  yourself,  I  suppose 
you  would  have  me  marry  the  aunt  ;  or  if  you  should 
change  your  mind,  and  take  the  old  lady — 'tis  the  same 
to  me — I'll  marry  the  niece. 

SIR  ANTH.  Upon  my  word,  Jack,  thou'rt  either  a  very 
great  hypocrite,  or — but  come,  I  know  your  indifference 
on  such  a  subject  must  be  all  a  lie — I'm  sure  it  must — 
come,  now — damn  your  demure  face  ! — come,  confess, 
Jack — you  have  been  lying — ha'n't  you  ?  You  have 
been  playing  the  hypocrite,  hey  ! — I'll  never  forgive 
you,  if  you  ha'n't  been  lying  and  playing  the  hypocrite. 


42  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    III. 


ABS.  I'm  sorry,  sir,  that  the  respect  and  duty  which  I 
hear  to  yon  should  be  so  mistaken. 

SIB  ANTH.  Hang  your  respect  and  duty  !  But  come 
along  with  me ;  I'll  write  a  note  to  Mrs.  Malaprop,  and 
you  shall  visit  the  lady  directly.  Her  eyes  shall  be  the 
Promethean  torch  to  you — come  along.  I'll  never  for- 
give you  if  you  don't  come  back  stark  mad  with  rapture 
and  impatience — if  you  don't,  egad,  I  will  marry  the 
girl  myself  1  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. 

JULIA'S  Dressing-room. 
FAULKLAND  discovered  alone. 

FAULK.  They  told  me  Julia  would  return  directly ;  I 
wonder  she  is  not  yet  come  !  How  mean  does  this 
captious,  unsatisfied  temper  of  mine  appear  to  my  cooler 
judgment !  Yet  I  know  not  that  I  indulge  it  in  any 
other  point ;  but  on  this  one  subject,  and  to  this  one 
subject,  whom  I  think  I  love  beyond  my  life,  I  am  ever 
ungenerously  fretful  and  madly  capricious  !  I  am  con- 
scious of  it — yet  I  cannot  correct  myself !  What  tender, 
honest  joy  sparkled  in  her  eyes  when  we  met !  how 
delicate  was  the  warmth  of  her  expressions  !  I  waa 
ashamed  to  appear  less  happy — though  I  had  come 
resolved  to  wear  a  face  of  coolness  and  upbraiding.  Sir 
Anthony's  presence  prevented  my  proposed  expostula- 
tions ;  yet  I  must  be  satisfied  that  she  has  not  been  so 
very  happy  in  my  absence.  She  is  coming  !  Yes  ! — I 
know  the  nimbleness  of  her  tread,  when  she  thinks 
her  impatient  Faulkland  counts  the  moments  of  her 
stay. 


SC.    II.]  THK     RIVALS.  43 


Enter  JULIA. 

JOT*  I  had  not  hoped  to  see  you  again  so  soon. 

FAULK.  Could  I,  Julia,  be  contented  with  my  first 
welcome — restrained  as  we  were  by  the  presence  of  a 
third  person  ? 

JUL.  O  Faulkland,  when  your  kindness  can  make  me 
thus  happy,  let  me  not  think  that  I  discovered  some- 
thing of  coldness  in  your  first  salutation. 

FAULJC.  Twas  but  your  fancy,  Julia.  I  was  rejoiced 
to  see  you — to  see  you  in  such  health.  Sure  I  had  no 
cause  for  coldness  ? 

JUL.  Nay,  then,  I  see  you  have  taken  something  ill. 
You  must  not  conceal  from  me  what  it  is. 

FAULK.  Well,  then — shall  1  own  to  you  that  my  joy 
at  hearing  of  your  health  and  arrival  here,  by  your 
neighbour  Acres,  was  somewhat  damped  by  his  dwelling 
much  on  the  high  spirits  you  had  enjoyed  in  Devon- 
shire— on  your  mirth — your  singing — dancing,  and 
I  know  not  what !  For  such  is  my  temper,  Julia,  that 
I  should  regard  every  mirthful  moment  in  your  absence 
as  a  treason  to  constancy.  The  mutual  tear  that  steals 
down  the  cheek  of  parting  lovers  is  a  compact  that  no 
smile  shall  live  there  till  they  meet  again. 

JUL.  Must  I  never  cease  to  tax  my  Faulkland  with 
this  teasing  minute  caprice?  Can  the  idle  reports  of 
a  silly  boor  weigh  in  your  breast  against  my  tried 
Affection  ? 

FAULK.  They  have  no  weight  with  me,  Julia.  No, 
no — I  am  happy  if  you  have  been  so — yet  only  say 
that  you  did  not  sing  with  mirth — say  that  you  thought 
of  Faulkland  in  the  dance. 

JUL.  I  never  can  be  happy  in  your  absence.  If  I 
wear  a  countenance  of  content,  it  is  to  show  that  my 


44  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    III. 


mind  holds  no  doubt  of  ray  Faulkland's  truth.  If  I 
seemed  sad,  it  were  to  make  malice  triumph,  and  say 
that  I  had  fixed  my  heart  on  one  who  left  me  to 
lament  his  roving  and  my  own  credulity.  Believe  me, 
Faulkland,  I  mean  not  to  upbraid  you  when  I  say  that 
I  have  often  dressed  sorrow  in  smiles,  lest  my  friends 
should  guess  whose  unkindness  had  caused  my  tears. 

FAULK.  You  were  ever  all  goodness  to  me.  Oh,  I 
am  a  brute  when  I  but  admit  a  doubt  of  your  true 
constancy  ! 

JUL.  If  ever  without  such  cause  from  you,  as  I  will 
not  suppose  possible,  you  find  my  affections  veering 
but  a  point,  may  I  become  a  proverbial  scoff  for  levity 
and  base  ingratitude. 

FAULK.  Ah  !  Julia,  that  last  word  is  grating  to  me. 
I  would  I  had  no  title  to  your  gratitude  !  Search  your 
heart,  Julia ;  perhaps  what  you  have  mistaken  for  love 
is  but  the  warm  effusion  of  a  too  thankful  heart. 

JUL.  For  what  quality  must  I  love  you  ? 

FAULK.  For  no  quality  !  To  regard  me  for  any 
quality  of  mind  or  understanding  were  only  to  esteem 
me.  And  for  person  —  I  have  often  wished  myself 
deformed,  to  be  convinced  that  I  owed  no  obligation 
there  for  any  part  of  your  affection. 

JUL.  Where  nature  has  bestowed  a  show  of  nice 
attention  in  the  features  of  a  man,  he  should  laugh  at 
it  as  misplaced.  I  have  seen  men,  who  in  this  vain 
article,  perhaps,  might  rank  above  you  ;  but  my  heart 
has  never  asked  my  eyes  if  it  were  so  or  not. 

FAULK.  Now  this  is  not  well  from  you,  Julia — I 
despise  person  in  a  man — yet  if  you  loved  me  as  I 
wish,  though  1  were  an  ^Ethiop,  you'd  think  none  so  fair. 

JUL.  I  see  you  are  determined  to  be  unkind  !  The 
contract  which  my  poor  father  bound  us  in  gives  you 
more  than  a  lover's  privilege. 


SC.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  45 


FAULK.  Again,  Julia,  you  raise  ideas  that  feed  and 
justify  my  doubts.  I  would  not  have  been  more  free. 
No  !  I  am  proud  of  my  restraint.  Yet — yet — perhaps 
your  high  respect  alone  for  this  solemn  compact  has 
fettered  your  inclinations,  which  else  had  made  a 
worthier  choice.  How  shall  I  be  sure,  had  you 
remained  unbound  in  thought  and  promise,  that  I 
should  still  have  been  the  object  of  your  persevering 
love? 

JUL.  Then  try  me  now.  Let  us  be  free  as  strangers 
as  to  what  is  past.  My  heart  will  not  feel  more 
liberty ! 

FAULK.  There  now  !  so  hasty,  Julia  !  so  anxious 
to  be  free !  If  your  love  for  me  were  fixed  and 
ardent,  you  would  not  lose  your  hold,  even  though 
I  wished  it  ! 

JUL.  Oh !  you  torture  me  to  the  heart !  I  cannot 
bear  it. 

FAULK.  I  do  not  mean  to  distress  you.  If  I  loved 
you  less  I  should  never  give  you  an  uneasy  moment. 
But  hear  me.  All  my  fretful  doubts  arise  from  this. 
Women  are  not  used  to  weigh  and  separate  the 
motives  of  their  affections.  The  cold  dictates  of 
prudence,  gratitude,  or  filial  duty  may  sometimes 
be  mistaken  for  the  pleadings  of  the  heart.  I  would 
not  boast — yet  let  me  say  that  I  have  neither  age, 
person,  nor  character,  to  found  dislike  on  ;  my  fortune 
such  as  few  ladies  could  be  charged  with  indiscretion 
in  the  match.  O  Julia !  when  love  receives  such 
countenance  from  prudence,  nice  minds  will  be  sus- 
picious of  its  birth. 

JUL.  I  know  not  whither  your  insinuations  would 
tend ;  but  as  they  seem  pressing  to  insult  me,  I  will  spare 
you  the  regret  of  having  done  so.  I  have  given  you  no 
cause  for  this  !  [Exit  in  tears. 


46  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    III. 


FAULK.  In  tears  !  Stay,  Julia  ;  stay  but  for  a  moment. 
— The  door  is  fastened  ! — Julia  !  my  soul ! — but  for 
one  moment !  I  hear  her  sobbing  ! — 'Sdeath  !  what 
a  brute  am  I  to  use  her  thus !  Yet  stay. — Ay,  she  is 
coming  now.  How  little  resolution  there  is  in  woman  ! 
How  a  few  soft  words  can  turn  them  !  No,  faith  !  she 
is  not  coming  either.  Why,  Julia — my  love — say  but 
that  you  forgive  me — come  but  to  tell  me  that — now 
this  is  being  too  resentful.  Stay  !  she  is  coming  too — 
I  thought  she  would — no  steadiness  in  anything  :  her 
going  away  must  have  been  a  mere  trick  then — she 
sha'n't  see  that  I  was  hurt  by  it.  I'll  affect  indifference. 
[Hums  a  tune :  then  listens.]  No — zounds  !  she's  not 
coming  !— nor  don't  intend  it,  I  suppose.  This  is  not 
steadiness,  but  obstinacy !  Yet  I  deserve  it.  What, 
after  so  long  an  absence  to  quarrel  with  her  tenderness  ! 
'Twas  barbarous  and  unmanly !  I  should  be  ashamed 
to  see  her  now.  I'll  wait  till  her  just  resentment  is 
abated  ;  and  when  I  distress  her  so  again,  may  I  lose  her 
for  ever !  and  be  linked  instead  to  some  antique  virago, 
whose  gnawing  passions  and  long-hoarded  spleen  shall 
make  me  curse  my  folly  half  the  day  and  all  the  night. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  III. 
MRS.  MALAPROP'S  Lodgings. 

MRS.   MALAPROP,  with  a  letter  in  her  hand,  and 
CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE. 

MRS.  MAL.  Your  being  Sir  Anthony's  son,  captain, 
would  itself  be  a  sufficient  accommodation  ;  but  from 
the  ingenuity  of  your  appearance,  I  am  convinced  you 
deserve  the  character  here  given  of  you. 

ABS.  Permit  me  to  say,  madam,  that  as  I  never  yet 
have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Miss  Languish,  my 


8C.    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  47 


principal  inducement  in  this  affair  at  present  is  the 
honour  of  being  allied  to  Mrs.  Malaprop,  of  whose 
intellectual  accomplishments,  elegant  manners,  and 
unaffected  learning,  no  tongue  is  silent. 

MRS.  MAL.  Sir,  you  do  me  infinite  honour  !  I  beg, 
captain,  you'll  be  seated.  [They  sit.]  Ah  !  few  gentle- 
men nowadays  know  how  to  value  the  ineffectual 
qualities  in  a  woman  !  Few  think  how  a  little  know- 
ledge becomes  a  gentlewoman  !  Men  have  no  sense 
now  but  for  the  worthless  flower  of  beauty  ! 

ABS.  It  is  but  too  true,  indeed,  ma'am ;  yet  I  fear 
our  ladies  should  share  the  blame.  They  think  our 
admiration  of  beauty  so  great,  that  knowledge  in  them 
would  be  superfluous.  Thus,  like  garden  trees,  they 
seldom  show  fruit,  till  time  has  robbed  them  of  the 
more  specious  blossom.  Few,  like  Mrs.  Malaprop  and 
the  orange-tree,  are  rich  in  both  at  once  ! 

MRS.  MAL.  Sir,  you  overpower  me  with  good  breed- 
ing.— He  is  the  very  pine-apple  of  politeness  ! — You  are 
not  ignorant,  captain,  that  this  giddy  girl  has  somehow 
contrived  to  fix  her  affections  on  a  beggarly,  strolling, 
eavesdropping  ensign,  whom  none  of  us  have  seen,  and 
nobody  knows  anything  of. 

ABS.  Oh,  I  have  heard  the  Billy  affair  before.  I'm 
not  at  all  prejudiced  against  her  on  that  account. 

MRS.  MAL.  You  are  very  good  and  very  considerate, 
captain.  1  am  sure  I  have  done  everything  in  my 
power  since  I  exploded  the  affair ;  long  ago  I  laid  my 
positive  conjunctions  on  her  never  to  think  on  the 
fellow  again.  I  have  since  laid  Sir  Anthony's  preposi- 
tion before  her ;  but,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  she  seems 
resolved  to  decline  every  particle  that  I  enjoin  her. 

ABS.  It  must  be  very  distressing  indeed,  ma'am. 

MRS.  MAL.  Oh  !  it  gives  me  the  hydrostatics  to  such 
a  degree.  I  thought  she  had  persisted  from  correspond- 


48  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    III. 


ing  with  him ;  but  behold,  this  very  day,  I  have  inter- 
ceded another  letter  from  the  fellow.  I  believe  I  have 
it  in  my  pocket. 

ABS.  Oh,  the  devil !  my  last  note.  [Aside. 

MRS.  MAL.  Ay,  here  it  is. 

ABS.  Ay,  my  note  indeed  !  Oh,  the  little  traitress 
Lucy.  [Aside. 

MKS.  MAX..  There,  perhaps  you  may  know  the  writing. 

{Gives  him  the  letter. 

ABS.  I  think  I  have  seen  the  hand  before — yes,  I 
certainly  must  have  seen  this  hand  before 

MRS.  MAL.  Nay,  but  read  it,  captain. 

ABS.  [Reads.]  My  soul's  idol,  my  adoredi  Lydidl — 
Very  tender  indeed. 

MRS.  MAL.  Tender ;  ay,  and  profane  too,  o'  my 
conscience. 

ABS.  [Reads.]  I  am  excessively  alarmed  at  the  intelli- 
gence you  send  me,  the  more  so  as  my  new  rival 

MRS.  MAL.  That's  you,  sir. 

ABS.  [Reads.]  has  universally  the  character  of  being 
an  accomplished  gentleman  and  a  man  of  honour. — Well, 
that's  handsome  enough. 

MRS.  MAL.  Oh,  the  fellow  has  some  design  in 
writing  so. 

ABS.  That  he  had,  I'll  answer  for  him,  ma'am. 

MRS.  MAL.  But  go  on,  sir — you'll  see  presently. 

ABS.  [Reads.]  As  for  the  old  weather-beaten  she-dragon 
who  guards  you— Who  can  he  mean  by  that? 

MRS.  MAL.  Me,  sir  ! — me  ! — he  means  me  !  There — 
what  do  you  think  now?  But  go  on  a  little  further. 

ABS.  Impudent  scoundrel !  [Reads.]  it  shall  go  hard, 
but  I  will  elude  her  vigilance,  as  I  am  told  that  the  same 
ridiculous  vanity  which  makes  her  dress  up  her  coarse 
features,  and  deck  her  dull  chat  with  hard  words  which  she 
don't  understand 


SC.    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  49 


MRS.  MAL.  There,  sir,  an  attack  upon  my  language  ! 
What  do  you  think  of  that? — an  aspersion  upon  my 
parts  of  speech  ! — was  ever  such  a  brute  !  Sure,  if  I 
reprehend  anything  in  this  world,  it  is  the  use  of  my 
oracular  tongue,  and  a  nice  derangement  of  epitaphs  ! 

Ass.  He  deserves  to  be  hanged  and  quartered  !  Let 
me  see.  [Reads.']  same  ridiculous  vanity 

MRS.  MAL.  You  need  not  read  it  again,  sir. 

ABS.  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am.  \JReads.~\  does  also  lay  her 
open  to  the  grossest  deceptions  from  flattery  and  pretended 
admiration — an  impudent  coxcomb  ! — to  that  I  have  a 
scheme  to  see  you  shortly  with  the  old  harridan's  consent, 
and  even  to  make  her  a  go-between  in  our  interview. — 
Was  ever  such  assurance  ! 

MRS.  MAL.  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like  it? 
He'll  elude  my  vigilance,  will  he  ?  Yes,  yes  !  ha !  ha  ! 
he's  very  likely  to  enter  these  doors !  We'll  try  who 
can  plot  best !  v , 

ABS.  So  we  will,  ma'am — so  we  will  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
a  conceited  puppy,  ha !  ha !  ha !  Well,  but  Mrs. 
Malaprop,  as  the  girl  seems  so  infatuated  by  this  fellow, 
suppose  you  were  to  wink  at  her  corresponding  with 
him  for  a  little  time — let  her  even  plot  an  elopement 
with  him  ;  then  do  you  connive  at  her  escape — while  I, 
just  in  the  nick,  will  have  the  fellow  laid  by  the  heels, 
and  fairly  contrive  to  carry  her  off  in  his  stead. 

MRS.  MAL.  I  am  delighted  with  the  scheme  ;  never 
was  anything  better  perpetrated  ! 

ABS.  But,  pray,  could  not  I  see  the  lady  for  a  few 
minutes  now  ?  I  should  like  to  try  her  temper  a  little. 

MRS.  MAL.  Why,  I  don't  know — I  doubt  she  is  not 
prepared  for  a  visit  of  this  kind.  There  is  a  decorum 
in  these  matters. 

ABS.  O  Lord  !  she  won't  mind  me.  Only  tell  her 
Beverley 


50  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    IIL 

MRS.  MAI,.  Sir ! 

ABS.  Gently,  good  tongue.  [Aside. 

MRS.  MAL.  What  did  you  say  of  Beverley  ? 

ABS.  Oh,  I  was  going  to  propose  that  you  should  tell 
her,  by  way  of  jest,  that  it  was  Beverley  who  was  below. 
She'd  come  down  fast  enough  then — ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

MRS.  MAL.  'Twould  be  a  trick  she  well  deserves ; 
besides,  you  know,  the  fellow  tells  her  he'll  get  my 
consent  to  see  her — ha  !  ha  !  Let  him  if  he  can,  I  say 
again.  Lydia,  come  down  here  !  [Calling.]  He'll  make 
me  a  go-between  in  their  interviews  ! — ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
Come  down,  I  say,  Lydia  !  I  don't  wonder  at  your 
laughing  —  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  His  impudence  is  truly 
ridiculous. 

ABS.  Tis  very  ridiculous,  upon  my  soul,  ma'am — ha 
ha !  ha ! 

MRS.  MAL.  The  little  hussy  won't  hear.  Well,  I'll 
go  and  tell  her  at  once  who  it  is — she  shall  know  that 
Captain  Absolute  is  come  to  wait  on  her.  And  I'll 
make  her  behave  as  becomes  a  young  woman. 

ABS.   As  you  please,  ma'am. 

MRS.  MAL.  For  the  present,  captain,  your  servant. 
Ah  !  you've  not  done  laughing  yet,  I  see — elude  my 
vigilance ;  yes,  yes  ;  ha !  ha !  ha  !  [Exit. 

i  ABS.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  one  would  think  now  that  I 
might  throw  off  all  disguise  at  once,  and  seize  my  prize 
with  security  ;  but  such  is  Lydia's  caprice,  that  to  un- 
deceive were  probably  to  lose  her.  I'll  see  whether  she 
knows  me. 

[W'dks  aside,  and  seems  engaged  in  looking  at  the 
pictures. 

Enter  LYDIA. 

LTD.  What  a  scene  am  I  now  to  go  through  !  Surely 
nothing  can  be  more  dreadful  than  to  be  obliged  to 


8C.    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  51 


to  the  loathsome  addresses  of  a  stranger  to  one's  heart. 
I  have  heard  of  girls  persecuted  as  I  am,  who  have 
appealed  in  behalf  of  their  favoured  lover  to  the 
generosity  of  his  riral :  suppose  I  were  to  try  it.  There 
stands  the  hated  rival — an  officer,  too  ! — but  oh,  how 
unlike  my  Beverley  !  I  wonder  he  don't  begin ;  truly 
he  seems  a  very  negligent  wooer ! — quite  at  his  ease, 
upon  my  word  !  I'll  speak  first.  Mr.  Absolute  1 

[Turn*  round. 

ABS.   Ma'am. 

LTD.  O  heavens  !  Beverley  ! 

ABS.  Hush  ! — hush,  my  life  ! — aoftly  !  be  not  sur- 
prised ! 

LYD.  I  am  ao  astonished,,  and  so  terrified,  and  so 
overjoyed  !  For  Heaven's  sake !  how  came  you 
here? 

ABS.  Briefly,  I  have  deceived  your  aunt  I  was 
informed  that  my  new  rival  was  to  visit  here  this 
evening,  and  contriving  to  have  him  kept  away,  have 
passed  myself  on  her  for  Captain  Absolute. 
<&LYD.  Oh,  charming!  And  she  really  takes  you  for 
young  Absolute  ? 

ABS.   Oh,  she's  convinced  of  it. 

LYD.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  I  can't  forbear  laughing  to  think 
how  her  sagacity  is  overreached  1 

ABS.  But  we  trifle  with  our  precious  moments — such 
another  opportunity  may  not  occur ;  then  let  me  now 
conjure  my  kind,  my  condescending  angel,  to  fix  the 
time  when  I  may  rescue  her  from  undeserving  persecu- 
tion, and  with  a  licensed  warmth  plead  for  my  reward. 

LYD.  Will  you,  then,  Beverley,  consent  to  forfeit  that 
portion  of  my  paltry  wealth  ? — that  burden  on  the  wings 
of  love  ? 

ABS.  Oh,  come  to  me — rich  only  thus — in  loveliness  ! 
Bring  no  portion  to  me  but  thy  love.  'Twill  be  generous- 


52  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    III. 


in  you,  Lydia — for  well  you  know,  it  is  the  only  dower 
your  poor  Beverley  can  repay. 

LTD.  How  persuasive  are  his  words ! — how  charming 
will  poverty  be  with  him  !  [Aside. 

ABS.  Ah !  my  soul,  what  a  life  will  we  then  live ! 
Love  shall  be  our  idol  and  support  I — we  will  worship 
him  with  a  monastic  strictness  ;  abjuring  all  worldly 
toys,  to  centre  every  thought  and  action  there.  Proud 
of  calamity,  we  will  enjoy  the  wreck  of  wealth  ;  while 
the  surrounding  gloom  of  adversity  shall  make  the 
flame  of  our  pure  love  show  doubly  bright.  By 
Heavens!  I  would  fling  all  goods  of  fortune  from  me 
with  a  prodigal  hand,  to  enjoy  the  scene  where  I  might 
clasp  my  Lydia  to  my  bosom  and  say,  the  world  affords 
no  smile  to  me  but  here.  [Embracing  her.]  If  she  holds 
out  now,  the  devil  is  in  it !  [Aside. 

LTD.  Now  could  I  fly  with  him  to  the  antipodes !  but 
my  persecution  is  not  yet  come  to  a  crisis.  [Aside. 

Re-enter  MRS.  MALAPROP,  listening. 

MRS.  MAT,.  I  am  impatient  to  know  how  the  little 
hussy  deports  herself.  [Aside. 

ABS.  So  pensive,  Lydia !  Is,  then,  your  warmth 
abated  ? 

MRS.  MAJU  Warmth  abated ! — so  ! — she  has  been  in  a 
passion,  I  suppose.  [Aside. 

LTD.  No — nor  ever  can  while  I  have  life. 

MRS.  MAL.  An  ill-tempered  little  devil !  She'll  be  in 
a  passion  all  her  life,  will  she?  [Aside. 

LTD.  Think  not  the  idle  threats  of  my  ridiculous  aunt 
can  ever  have  any  weight  with  me. 

MRS.  MAL.  Very  dutiful,  upon  my  word  !  [Aside. 

LYD.  Let  her  choice  be  Captain  Absolute,  but  Beverley 
i*  mine. 


SO.    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  53 


MRS.  MAL.  I  am  astonished  at  her  assurance ! — to  his 
face — this  is  to  his  face  !  [Aside. 

Ass.  Thus,  then,  let  me  enforce  my  suit.       [Kneeling. 

MRS.  MAL.  [Aside.]  Ay,  poor  young  man!  Down 
on  his  knees  entreating  for  pity !  I  can  contain  no 
longer.  [Coming  forward.]  Why,  thou  vixen  !  I  have 
overheard  you. 

ABS.  Oh,  confound  her  vigilance  !  [Aside. 

MBS.  MAL.  Captain  Absolute,  I  know  not  how  to 
apologise  for  her  shocking  rudeness. 

ABS.  [Aside.]  So  all's  safe,  I  find.  [Aloud.]  I  have 
hopes,  madam,  that  time  will  brin^  the  young  lady 

MBS.  MAL.  Oh,  there's  nothing  to  be  hoped  for  from 
her !  She's  as  headstrong  as  an  allegory  on  the  banks 
of  Nile. 

LYD.  Nay,  madam,  what  do  you  charge  me  with  now  ? 

MBS.  MAL.  Why,  thou  unblushing  rebel — didn't  you 
tell  this  gentleman  to  his  face  that  you  loved  another 
better  ?  Didn't  you  say  you  never  would  be  his  ? 

LYD.  No,  madam — J  did  not. 

MRS.  MAL.  Good  Heavens  !  what  assurance  !  Lydia, 
Lydia,  you  ought  to  know  that  lying  don't  become  a 
young  woman !  Didn't  you  boast  that  Beverley,  that 
stroller  Beverley,  possessed  your  heart?  Tell  me  that, 
I  say. 

LYD.  'Tis  true,  ma'am,  and  none  but  Beverley 

MRS.  MAL.  Hold  ! — hold,  Assurance  ! — you  shall  not 
be  so  rude. 

ABS.  Nay,  pray,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  don't  stop  the  young 
lady's  speech  ;  she's  very  welcome  to  talk  thus — it  does 
not  hurt  me  in  the  least,  I  assure  you. 

MBS.  MAL.  You  are  too  good,  captain — too  amiably 
patient — but  come  with  me,  miss.  Let  us  see  you  again 
soon,  captain.  Remember  what  we  have  fixed. 

ABS.  I  shall,  ma'am. 


54-  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    III. 


MRS.  MAI,.  Come,  take  a  graceful  leave  of  the  gentle- 
man. 

LYD.  May  every  blessing  wait  on  my  Beverley,  my 

loved  Bev 

MRS.  MAL.  Hussy !  I'll  choke  the  word  in  your 
throat ! — come  along — come  along. 

[Exeunt  severally ;  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE  kissing  his 
hand  to  LYDIA  —  MRS.  MALAPROP  stopping  her 
from  speaking. 

SCENE  IV. 

ACRES'  Lodgings, 
ACRES,  as  just  dressed,  and  DAVID. 

ACRES.  Indeed,  David — do  you  think  I  hecome  it  so  ? 

DAV.  You  are  quite  another  creature,  believe  me, 
master.  By  the  mass  !  an'  we've  any  luck  we  shall  see 
the  Devon  monkerony  in  all  the  print-shops  in  Bath  ! 

ACRES.  Dress  does  make  a  difference,  David. 

DAV.  "Tis  all  in  all,  I  think.  Difference  !  why,  an' 
you  were  to  go  now  to  Clod  Hall,  I  am  certain  the  old 
lady  wouldn't  know  you  :  Master  Butler  wouldn't  be- 
lieve his  own  eyes,  and  Mrs.  Pickle  would  cry,  Lard 
presarve  me  !  our  dairymaid  would  come  giggling  to 
the  door,  and  I  warrant  Dolly  Tester,  your  honour's 
favourite,  would  blush  like  my  waistcoat.  Oons  !  I'll 
hold  a  gallon,  there  an't  a  dog  in  the  house  but  would 
bark,  and  I  question  whether  Phillis  would  wag  a  hair 
of  her  tail  ! 

ACRES.  Ay,  David,  there's  nothing  like  polishing. 

DAV.  So  I  says  of  your  honour's  boots ;  but  the  boy 
never  heeds  me  ! 

ACRES.  But,  David,  has  Mr.  De-la-grace  been  here? 
I  must  rub  up  my  balancing,  and  chasing,  and  boring. 


8C.    IV.]  THE     RIVALS.  55 


DAY.  I'll  call  again,  sir. 

ACRES.  Do — and  see  if  there  are  any  letters  for  me  at 
the  post-office. 

DAV.  I  will.  By  the  mass  !  I  can't  help  looking  at 
your  head  ! — if  I  hadn't  been  by  at  the  cooking,  I  wish 
I  may  die  if  I  should  have  known  the  dish  again 
myself !  [Exit. 

ACRBS.  [Practising  a  dancing  -  step.']  Sink,  slide  — 
coupee.  Confound  the  first  inventors  of  cotillons  !  say 
I — they  are  as  bad  as  algebra  to  us  country  gentlemen. 
I  can  walk  a  minuet  easy  enough  when  I  am  forced  ! — 
and  I  have  been  accounted  a  good  stick  in  a  country- 
dance.  Odds  jigs  and  tabors !  I  never  valued  your 
cross-over  to  couple — figure  in — right  and  left — and  I'd 
foot  it  with  e'er  a  captain  in  the  county  ! — but  these 
outlandish  heathen  allemandes  and  cotillons  are  quite 
beyond  me  !  I  shall  never  prosper  at  'em,  that's  sure — 
mine  are  true-born  English  legs — they  don't  understand 
their  curst  French  lingo  ! — their  pas  this,  and  pas  that, 
and  pas  t'other.  Damn  me  !  my  feet  don't  like  to  be 
called  paws  !  No,  'tis  certain  I.  have  most  Antigallican 
toes ! 

Enter  SERVANT. 

SKRV.  Here  is  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger  to  wait  on  you, 
sir. 

ACRES.  Show  him  in.  [Exit  SERVANT. 

Enter  SIR  Lucius  O'TRIGGER. 

SIR  Luc.  Mr.  Acres,  I  am  delighted  to  embrace  you. 
ACRES.  My  dear  Sir  Lucius,  I  kiss  your  hands. 
SIR  Luc.   Pray,  my  friend,  what  has  brought  you  so 
suddenly  to  Bath  ? 

ACRES.    Faith  !     I    have     followed     Cupid's    Jack-a- 


56  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    III. 


lantern,  and  find  myself  in  a  quagmire  at  last.  In 
short,  I  have  been  very  ill-used,  Sir  Lucius.  I  don't 
choose  to  mention  names,  but  look  on  me  as  on  a  very 
ill-used  gentleman. 

SIB  Luc.  Pray  what  is  the  case  ?     I  ask  no  names. 

ACRES.  Mark  me,  Sir  Lucius,  I  fall  as  deep  as  need 
be  in  love  with  a  young  lady — her  friends  take  my 
part — I  follow  her  to  Bath — send  word  of  my  arrival ; 
and  receive  answer  that  the  lady  is  to  be  otherwise 
disposed  of.  This,  Sir  Lucius,  I  call  being  ill-used. 

SIB  Luc.  Very  ill,  upon  my  conscience.  Pray,  can 
you  divine  the  cause  of  it  ? 

ACBES.  Why,  there's  the  matter ;  she  has  another 
lover,  one  Beverley,  who,  I  am  told,  is  now  in  Bath. 
Odds  slanders  and  lies  !  he  must  be  at  the  bottom 
of  it. 

SIB  Luc.  A  rival  in  the  case,  is  there?  And  you 
think  he  has  supplanted  you  unfairly? 

ACBES.  Unfairly  !  to  be  sure  he  has.  He  never  could 
have  done  it  fairly. 

SIB  Luc.  Then  sure  you  know  what  is  to  be  done  ? 

ACBES.  Not  I,  upon  my  soul ! 

SIB  Luc.  We  wear  no  swords  here,  but  you  under- 
stand me. 

ACBES.  What !  fight  him  ! 

SIB  Luc.  Ay,  to  be  sure.     What  can  I  mean  else  ? 

ACBES.  But  he  has  given  me  no  provocation. 

SIB  Luc.  Now,  I  think  he  lias  given  you  the  greatest 
provocation  in  the  world.  Can  a  man  commit  a  more 
heinous  offence  against  another  than  to  fall  in  love  with 
the  same  woman  ?  Oh,  by  my  soul  !  it  is  the  most  un- 
pardonable breach  of  friendship. 

ACBES.  Breach  of  friendship  !  Ay,  ay,  but  I  have  no 
acquaintance  with  this  man.  I  never  saw  him  in  my 
life. 


SC.    IV.]  THE     RIVALS.  57 


SIB  Luc.  That's  no  argument  at  all — he  has  the  less 
right,  then,  to  take  such  a  liberty. 

ACRES.  Gad,  that's  true — I  grow  full  of  anger,  Sir 
Lucius  !  I  fire  apace  !  Odds  hilts  and  blades  !  I  find 
a  man  may  have  a  deal  of  valour  in  him  and  not  know 
it !  But  couldn't  I  contrive  to  have  a  little  right  of  my 
side  ? 

SIB  Luc.  What  the  devil  signifies  right  when  your 
honour  is  concerned  ?  Do  you  think  Achilles,  or  my 
little  Alexander  the  Great,  ever  inquired  where  the 
right  lay?  No,  by  my  soul!  they  drew  their  broad- 
swords, and  left  the  lazy  sons  of  peace  to  set . .'  j  the 
justice  of  it. 

ACRES.  Your  words  are  a  grenadier's  march  to  my 
heart !  I  believe  courage  must  be  catching !  I  cer- 
tainly do  feel  a  kind  of  valour  rising  as  it  were — a  kind 
of  courage,  as  I  IT.:  y  say.  Odds  flints,  pans,  and  triggers  ! 
I'll  challenge  him  directly. 

SIR  Luc.  Ah,  my  little  friend,  if  I  had  Blunderbuss 
Hall  here,  I  could  show  you  a  range  of  ancestry,  in 
the  O'Trigger  line,  that  would  furnish  the  new  room ; 
every  one  of  whom  had  killed  his  man  !  For  though 
the  mansion-house  and  dirty  acres  have  slipped  through 
my  fingers,  I  thank  Heaven  our  honour  and  the  family 
pictures  are  as  fresh  as  ever. 

ACRES.  Oh,  Sir  Lucius  !  I  have  had  ancestors  too ! — 
every  man  of  'em  colonel  or  captain  in  the  militia ! 
Odds  balls  and  barrels  !  say  no  more — I'm  braced  for 
it.  The  thunder  of  your  words  has  soured  the  milk 
of  human  kindness  in  my  breast.  Zounds  !  as  the  man 
in  the  play  says,  /  could  do  such  deeds  ! 

SIR  Luc.  Come,  come,  there  must  be  no  passion  at 
all  in  the  case — these  things  should  always  be  done 
civilly. 

ACRES.  I  must  be  in  a  passion,  Sir  Lucius — I  must 


58  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    III. 


be  in  a  rage.  Dear  Sir  Lucius,  let  me  be  in  a  rage,  if 
you  love  me.  Come,  here's  pen  and  paper.  [Sits  down 
to  write.]  1  would  the  ink  were  red  !  Indite,  I  say 
indite  !  How  shall  I  begin  ?  Odds  bullets  and  blades  ! 
I'll  write  a  good  bold  hand,  however. 

SIR  Luc.  Pray  compose  yourself. 

ACRES.  Come — now,  shall  I  begin  with  an  oath?  Do, 
Sir  Lucius,  let  me  begin  with  a  damme. 

SIR  Luc.  Pho  !  pho  !  do  the  thing  decently,  and  like 
a  Christian.  Began  now — Sir 

ACRE3.  That's  too  civil  by  half. 

Sin  LtTC.  To  prevent  the  confusion  that  might  arise 

ACRES.  Well 


SIR  Luc.  From  our  both  addressing  the  same  lady- 


ACRES.  Ay,  there's  the  reason — same  lady — well 

SIR  Luc.  /  shall  expect  the  honour  of  your  company 

ACRES.  Zounds  !  I'm  not  asking  him  to  dinner. 

SIR  Luc.  Pray  be  easy. 

ACRES.   Well,  then,  honour  of  your  company 

SIR  Luc.  To  settle  our  pretensions 

ACRES.  Well. 

SIR  Luc.  Let  me  see — ay,  King's-Mead-Fields  will  do 
— in  King's-Mead-Fields. 

ACRES.  So,  that's  done.  Well,  I'll  fold  it  up  pre- 
sently ;  my  own  crest — a  hand  and  dagger — shall  be 
the  seal. 

SIR  Luc.  You  see  now  this  little  explanation  will  put 
a  stop  at  once  to  all  confusion  or  misunderstanding  that 
might  arise  between  you. 

ACRES.  Ay,  we  fight  to  prevent  any  misunderstanding. 

SIR  Luc.  Now,  I'll  leave  you  to  fix  your  own  time. 
Take  my  advice,  and  you'll  decide  it  this  evening  if  you 
can  ;  then  let  the  worst  come  of  it,  'twill  be  off  your 
mind  to-morrow. 

ACRES.  Very  true. 


SC.    IV.J  THE     RIVALS.  59 


SIR  Luc.  So  I  shall  see  nothing  more  of  you,  unless 
it  be  by  letter,  till  the  evening.  I  would  do  myself  the 
honour  to  carry  your  message  ;  but,  to  tell  you  a  secret, 
I  believe  I  shall  have  just  such  another  affair  on  my 
own  hands.  There  is  a  gay  captain  here,  who  put  a 
jest  on  me  lately  at  the  expense  of  my  country,  and  I 
only  want  to  fall  in  with  the  gentleman  to  call  him  out. 

ACRES.  By  my  valour,  I  should  like  to  see  you  fight 
first !  Odds  life  !  I  should  like  to  see  you  kill  him  if 
it  was  only  to  get  a  little  lesson. 

SIR  Luc.  I  shall  be  very  proud  of  instructing  you. 
Well,  for  the  present — but  remember  now,  when  you 
meet  your  antagonist,  do  everything  in  a  mild  and 
agreeable  manner.  Let  your  courage  be  as  keen,  but 
at  the  same  time  as  polished,  as  your  sword. 

[Exeunt  severally. 

ACT  THE  FOURTH. 
SCENE  I. 

ACRES'  Lodgings. 
ACRHS  and  DAVID. 

DAV.  Then,  by  the  mass,  sir !  I  would  do  no  such 
thing — ne'er  a  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger  in  the  kingdom 
should  make  me  fight,  when  1  wa'n't  so  minded. 
Oons  !  what  will  the  old  lady  say,  when  she  hears  o't? 

ACRES.  Ah  !  David,  if  you  had  heard  Sir  Lucius  ! 
Odds  sparks  and  flames  !  he  would  have  roused  your 
valour. 

DAV.  Not  he,  indeed.  I  hate  such  bloodthirsty  cor- 
morants. Look'ee,  master,  if  you'd  wanted  a  bout  at 
boxing,  quarter-staff,  or  short-staff,  I  should  never  be 
the  man  to  bid  you  cry  off :  but  for  your  curst  sharps 
and  snaps,  I  never  knew  any  good  come  of  'em. 


60  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT   IV. 


ACRES.  But  my  honour,  David,  my  honour  !  I  must 
be  very  careful  of  my  honour. 

DAV.  Ay,  by  the  mass  !  and  I  would  be  very  careful 
of  it ;  and  1  think  in  return  my  honour  couldn't  do  less 
than  to  be  very  careful  of  me. 

ACRES.  Odds  blades  !  David,  no  gentleman  will  ever 
risk  the  loss  of  his  honour  ! 

DAV.  I  say,  then,  it  would  be  but  civil  in  honour 
never  to  risk  the  loss  of  a  gentleman.  Look'ee,  master, 
this  honour  seems  to  me  to  be  a  marvellous  false  friend  : 
ay,  truly,  a  very  courtier-like  servant.  Put  the  case,  I 
was  a  gentleman  (which,  thank  God,  no  one  can  say  of 
me) ;  well — my  honour  makes  me  quarrel  with  another 
gentleman  of  my  acquaintance.  So — we  fight.  (Pleasant 
enough  that !)  Boh  ! — I  kill  him — (the  more's  my  luck !) 
now,  pray,  who  gets  the  profit  of  it?  Why,  my  honour. 
But  put  the  case  that  he  kills  me ! — by  the  mass  !  I 
go  to  the  worms,  and  my  honour  whips  over  to  my 
enemy. 

ACRES.  No,  David — in  that  case !  odds  crowns  and 
laurels  !  your  honour  follows  you  to  the  grave. 

DAV.  Now,  that's  just  the  place  where  I  could  make 
a  shift  to  do  without  it. 

ACRES.  Zounds  !  David,  you  are  a  coward  !  It  doesn't 
become  my  valour  to  listen  to  you.  What,  shall  I  dis- 
grace my  ancestors  ?  Think  of  that,  David — think  what 
it  would  be  to  disgrace  my  ancestors  ! 

DAV.  Under  favour,  the  surest  way  of  not  disgracing 
them,  is  to  keep  as  long  as  you  can  out  of  their  com- 
pany. Look'ee  now,  master,  to  go  to  them  in  such 
haste — with  an  ounce  of  lead  in  your  brains — I  should 
think  might  as  well  be  let  alone.  Our  ancestors  are 
very  good  kind  of  folks ;  but  they  are  the  last  people  I 
should  choose  to  have  a  visiting  acquaintance  with. 

ACRES.  But,  David,  now,  you  don't  think  there  is  such 


SC.    I.]  THE     RIVALS.  61 


very,  very,  very  great  danger,  hey  ?  Odds  life  !  people 
often  fight  without  any  mischief  done ! 

DAV.  By  the  mass,  I  think  'tis  ten  to  one  against 
you  !  Oons  !  here  to  meet  some  lion-headed  fellow,  I 
warrant,  with  his  damned  double-barrelled  swords,  and 
cut-and-thrust  pistols  !  Lord  bless  us  !  it  makes  me 
tremble  to  think  o't  !  Those  be  such  desperate  bloody- 
minded  weapons  !  Well,  I  never  could  abide  'em — 
from  a  child  I  never  could  fancy  'em  !  I  suppose  there 
an't  been  so  merciless  a  beast  in  the  world  as  your 
loaded  pistol  ! 

ACRES.  Zounds  !  I  won't  be  afraid  !  Odds  fire  and 
fury !  you  shan't  make  me  afraid.  Here  is  the  chal- 
lenge, and  I  have  sent  for  my  dear  friend  Jack  Absolute 
to  carry  it  for  me. 

DAV.  Ay,  i'  the  name  of  mischief,  let  him  be  the 
messenger.  For  my  part,  I  wouldn't  lend  a  hand  to  it 
for  the  best  horse  in  your  stable.  By  the  mass  !  it 
don't  look  like  another  letter  !  It  is,  as  I  may  say,  a 
designing  and  malicious-looking  letter ;  and  I  warrant 
smells  of  gunpowder  like  a  soldier's  pouch  !  Oons  !  I 
wouldn't  swear  it  mayn't  go  off ! 

ACRES.  Out,  you  poltroon  !  you  ha'n't  the  valour  of  a 
grasshopper. 

DAV.  Well,  I  say  no  more — 'twill  be  sad  news,  to  be 
sure,  at  Clod  Hall !  but  I  ha'  done.  How  Phillis  will 
howl  when  she  hears  of  it !  Ay,  poor  bitch,  she  little 
thinks  what  shooting  her  master's  going  after  !  And  I 
warrant  old  Crop,  who  has  carried  your  honour,  field 
and  road,  these  ten  years,  will  curse  the  hour  he  was 
born.  [  Whimpering. 

ACRES.  It  won't  do,  David — I  am  determined  to  fight 
— so  get  along,  you  coward,  while  I'm  in  the  mind. 


62  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    IV. 


Enter  SERVANT. 

SERV.  Captain  Absolute,  sir. 

ACRES.   Oh  !  show  him  up.  [Exit  SERVANT. 

DAV.  Well,  Heaven  send  we  be  all  alive  this  time  to- 
morrow. 

ACRES.  What5 s  that  ?    Don't  provoke  me,  David  ! 

DAV.  Good-bye,  master.  [Whimpering. 

ACRES.  Get  along,  you  cowardly,  dastardly,  croaking 
raven  !  [Suit  DAVID. 

Enter  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE. 

ABS.  What's  the  matter,  Bob  ? 

ACRES.  A  vile,  sheep-hearted  blockhead  !  If  I  hadn't 
the  valour  of  St.  George  and  the  dragon  to  boot 

ABS.  But  what  did  you  want  with  me,  Bob  ? 

ACRES.   Oh  !     There [Gives  him  the  challenge. 

ABS.  [^4#frfe.]  To  Ensign  Beverley.  So — what's  going 
on  now  !  [Aloud.]  Well,  what's  this? 

ACRES.  A  challenge  ! 

ABS.  Indeed  1  Why,  yon  won't  fight  him  ;  will  you, 
Bob? 

ACRES.  Egad,  but  I  will,  Jack.  Sir  Lucius  has 
wrought  me  to  it.  He  has  left  me  full  of  rage — and 
I'll  fight  this  evening,  that  so  much  good  passion 
mayn't  be  wasted. 

ABS.   But  what  have  I  to  do  with  this  ? 

ACRES.  Why,  as  I  think  you  know  something  of  this 
fellow,  I  want  you  to  find  him  out  for  me,  and  give  him 
this  mortal  defiance. 

ABS.  Well,  give  it  to  me,  and  trust  me  he  gets  it. 

ACRES.  Thank  you,  my  dear  friend,  my  dear  Jack ; 
but  it  is  giving  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 

ABS.  Not  in  the  least — I  beg  you  won't  mention  it. 
No  trouble  in  the  world,  I  assure  you. 


SC.    I.]  1'HE     RIVALS.  63 


ACRES.  You  are  very  kind.  What  it  is  to  have  a 
friend  I  You  couldn't  be  my  second,  could  you,  Jack  ? 

ABS.  Why  no,  Bob — not  in  this  affair — it  would  not 
be  quite  so  proper. 

ACRES.  Well,  then,  I  must  get  my  friend  Sir  Lucius. 
I  shall  have  your  good  wishes,  however,  Jack? 

ABS.  Whenever  he  meets  you,  believe  me. 

Re-enter  SHBVANT. 

SHBV.  Sir  Anthony  Absolute  is  below,  inquiring  for 
the  captain. 

ABS.  I'll  come  instantly.  {Exit  SERVANT.]  Well,  my 
little  hero,  success  attend  you.  [Going. 

ACRES.  Stay — stay,  Jack.  If  Beverley  should  ask  you 
what  kind  of  a  man  your  friend  Acres  is,  do  tell  him  I 
am  a  devil  of  a  fellow — will  you,  Jack  ? 

ABS.  To  be  sure  I  shall.  I'll  say  you  are  a  determined 
dog — hey,  Bob? 

ACRES.  Ay,  do,  do — and  if  that  frightens  him,  egad, 
perhaps  he  mayn't  come.  So  tell  him  I  generally  kill  a 
man  a  week — will  you,  Jack  ? 

ABS.  I  will,  I  will ;  I'll  say  you  are  called  in  the 
country  Fighting  Bob. 

ACRES.  Right — right — 'tis  all  to  prevent  mischief;  for 
I  don't  want  to  take  his  life  if  I  clear  my  honour. 

ABS.  No  1  that's  very  kind  of  you. 

ACRES.  Why,  you  don't  wish  me  to  kill  him — do  you 
Jack? 

ABS.  No,  upon  my  soul,  I  do  not.  But  a  devil  of  a 
fellow,  hey?  [Going. 

ACRES.  True,  true — but  stay — stay,  Jack — you  may 
add,  that  you  never  saw  me  in  such  a  rage  before — a 
most  devouring  rage ! 

ABS    I  will,  I  will. 


64  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    IV. 


ACRES.  Remember,  Jack — a  determined  dog ! 

ABS.  Ay,  ay,  Fighting  Bob !  [Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE  II. 

MRS.  MALAPROP'S  Lodgings. 
MRS.  MALAPROP  and  LYDIA. 

MRS.  MAL.  Why,  thou  perverse  one !  tell  me  what 
you  can  object  to  him  ?  Isn't  he  a  handsome  man  ? — 
tell  me  that.  A  genteel  man  ?  a  pretty  figure  of  a 
man? 

LTD.  [.4.9/de.]  She  little  thinks  whom  she  is  praising ! 
\AloudJ\  So  is  Beverley,  ma'am. 

MRS.  MAI,.  No  caparisons,  miss,  if  you  please.  Capa- 
risons don't  become  a  young  woman.  No !  Captain 
Absolute  is  indeed  a  fine  gentleman  ! 

LYD.  Ay,  the  Captain  Absolute  you  have  seen. 

[A  side. 

MRS.  MAL.  Then  he's  so  well  bred — so  full  of  alacrity 
and  adulation ! — and  has  so  much  to  say  for  himself — 
in  such  good  language  too !  His  physiognomy  so 
grammatical !  Then  his  presence  is  so  noble !  I 
protest,  when  I  saw  him,  I  thought  of  what  Hamlet 
says  in  the  play  : — 

"  Hesperian  curls — the  front  of  Job  himself  ! — 
An  eye,  like  March,  to  threaten  at  command  ! — 
A  station,  like  Harry  Mercury,  new — " 

Something  about   kissing  —  on   a   hill  —  however,   the 
similitude  struck  me  directly. 

LYD.  How  enraged  she'll  be  presently,  when  she 
discovers  her  mistake  !  [Aside. 


SC.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  65 


Enter  SERVANT. 

SERV.  Sir  Anthouy  and  Captain  Absolute  are  below, 
ma'am. 

MRS.  MAL.  Show  them  up  here.  [Exit  SERVANT.] 
Now,  Lydia,  I  insist  on  your  behaving  as  becomes  a 
young  woman.  Show  your  good  breeding,  at  least, 
though  you  have  forgot  your  duty. 

LYD.  Madam,  I  have  told  you  my  resolution  !  I  shall 
not  only  give  him  no  encouragement,  but  I  won't  even 
speak  to,  or  look  at  him. 

[Flings  herself  into  a  chair,  with  her  face  from  the 
door. 

Enter  SIR  ANTHONY  ABSOLUTE  and  CAPTAIN 
ABSOLUTE. 

SIR  ANTH.  Here  we  are,  Mrs.  Malaprop;  come  to 
mitigate  the  frowns  of  unrelenting  beauty — and  diffi- 
culty enough  I  had  to  bring  this  fellow.  I  don't  know 
what's  the  matter ;  but  if  I  had  not  held  him  by  force, 
he'd  have  given  me  the  slip. 

MRS.  MAL.  You  have  infinite  trouble,  Sir  Anthony, 
in  the  affair.  I  am  ashamed  for  the  cause !  [Aside  to 
LYDIA.]  Lydia,  Lydia,  rise,  I  beseech  you ! — pay  your 
respects ! 

SIR  ANTH.  I  hope,  madam,  that  Miss  Languish  has  re- 
flected on  the  worth  of  this  gentleman,  and  the  regard 
due  to  her  aunt's  choice,  and  my  alliance.  [Aside  to 
CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE.]  Now,  Jack,  speak  to  her. 

ABS.  [Aside.]  What  the  devil  shall  I  do !  [Aside  to 
SIR  ANTHONY.]  You  see,  sir,  she  won't  even  look  at  me 
whilst  you  are  here.  I  knew  she  wouldn't !  I  told  you 
so.  Let  me  entreat  you,  sir,  to  leave  us  together. 

[Seems  to  expostulate  with  his  father. 


66  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    IV. 


LYD.  [Aside.]  I  wonder  I  ha'n't  heard  my  aunt  ex- 
claim yet !  Sure  she  can't  have  looked  at  him  ! — 
perhaps  their  regimentals  are  alike,  and  she  is  some- 
thing blind. 

SIR  ANTH.  I  say,  sir,  1  won't  stir  a  foot  yet ! 

MRS.  MAL.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  Sir  Anthony,  that  my 
affluence  over  my  niece  is  very  small.  [Aside  to  LYDIA.] 
Turn  round,  Lydia  :  J  blush  for  you  ! 

SIB  ANTH.  May  I  not  flatter  myself,  that  Miss 
Languish  will  assign  what  cause  of  dislike  she  can 
have  to  my  son  !  [Aside  to  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE.]  Why 
don't  you  begin,  Jack  ?  Speak,  you  puppy — speak  ! 

MRS.  MAL.  It  is  impossible,  Sir  Anthony,  she  can 
have  any.  She  will  not  say  she  has.  [Aside  to  LYDIA.] 
Answer,  hussy  !  why  don't  you  answer  ? 

SIR  ANTH.  Then,  madam,  I  trust  that  a  childish  and 
hasty  predilection  will  be  no  bar  to  Jack's  happiness. 
[Aside  to  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE.]  Zounds  !  sirrah  !  why 
don't  you  speak? 

LYD.  [Aside.]  I  think  my  lover  seems  as  little  in- 
clined to  conversation  as  myself.  How  strangely  blind 
my  aunt  must  be  ! 

ABS.  Hem  !  hem  !  madam — hem  !  [Attempts  to  speak, 
then  returns  to  SIR  ANTHONY.]  Faith !  sir,  I  am  so 
confounded  ! — and — so — so — confused  !  I  told  you  I 
should  be  so,  sir — I  knew  it.  The — the — tremor  of  my 
passion  entirely  takes  away  my  presence  of  mind. 

SIR  ANTH.  But  it  don't  take  away  your  voice,  fool, 
does  it  ?  Go  up,  and  speak  to  her  directly  ! 

[CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE  makes  signs  to  MRS.  MALAPROP 
to  leave  them  together. 

MRS.  MAL.  Sir  Anthony,  shall  we  leave  them  to- 
gether? [Aside  to  LYDIA.]  Ah  !  you  stubborn  little 
vixen  ! 

SIR  ANTH.    Not    yet,    ma'am,    not    yet !      [Aside    to 


SC.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  67 


CAPTAIN    ABSOLUTE.]     What    the    devil    are    you    at? 
Unlock  your  jaws,  sirrah,  or  - 


ABS.  [yixtde.]  Now  Heaven  send  she  may  be  too  sullen 
to  look  round  I  I  must  disguise  my  voice.  [Draws  near 
LYDIA,  and  speaks  in  a  low  hoarse  tone.]  Will  not  Miss 
Languish  lend  an  ear  to  the  mild  accents  of  true  love  ? 
Will  not  - 

SIB  ANTH.  What  the  devil  ails  the  fellow?  Why 
don't  you  speak  out?  —  not  stand  croaking  like  a  frog 
in  a  quinsy  ! 

ABS.  The  —  the  —  excess  of  my  awe,  and  my  —  my  —  my 
modesty,  quite  choke  me  ! 

SIB  ANTH.  Ah  !  your  modesty  again  !  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Jack  ;  if  you  don't  speak  out  directly  and  glibly 
too,  I  shall  be  in  such  a  rage  !  Mrs.  Malaprop,  I  wish 
the  lady  would  favour  us  with  something  more  than  a 
side-front.  [MRS.  MALAPROP  seems  to  chide  LYDIA. 

ABS.  [Aside.]  So  all  will  out,  I  see  !  [Goes  up  \to 
LYDIA,  speaks  softly.]  Be  not  surprised,  my  Lydia  ; 
suppress  all  surprise  at  present. 

LYD.  [Xrc'rfe.]  Heavens  !  'tis  Beverley's  voice  !  Sure 
he  can't  have  imposed  on  Sir  Anthony  too  !  [Looks 
round  by  degrees,  then  starts  up.]  Is  this  possible  !  —  my 
Beverley  !  —  how  can  this  be  ?  —  my  Beverley  ? 

ABS.  Ah  !  'tis  all  over.  [Aside. 

SIR  ANTH.  Beverley  !  —  the  devil  —  Beverley  !  What 
can  the  girl  mean  ?  This  is  my  son,  Jack  Absolute. 

MRS.  MAL.  For  shame,  hussy  !  for  shame  !  your  head 
runs  so  on  that  fellow,  that  you  have  him  always  in 
your  eyes  !  Beg  Captain  Absolute's  pardon  directly. 

LYD.  I  see  no  Captain  Absolute,  but  my  loved 
Beverley  ! 

SIR  ANTH.  Zounds  !  the  girl's  mad  !  —  her  brain'* 
turned  by  reading. 


68  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    IV. 


MBS.  MAI,.  O'  my  conscience,  I  believe  so  !  What 
do  you  mean  by  Beverley,  hussy  ?  You  saw  Captain 
Absolute  before  to-day.  There  he  is — your  husband 
that  shall  be. 

LYD.  With  all  my  soul,  ma'am — when  I  refuse  my 
Beverley 

SIB  ANTH.  Oh  !  she's  as  mad  as  Bedlam  ! — or  has  this 
fellow  been  playing  us  a  rogue's  trick  !  Come  here, 
sirrah,  who  the  devil  are  you? 

ABS.  Faith,  sir,  I  am  not  quite  clear  myself;  but  I'll 
endeavour  to  recollect. 

SIB  ANTH.  Are  you  my  son  or  not  ?  Answer  for  your 
mother,  you  dog,  if  you  won't  for  me. 

MRS.  MAL.  Ay,  sir,  who  are  you  ?  Oh,  mercy !  I 
begin  to  suspect ! — 

ABS.  [Aside.]  Ye  powers  of  impudence,  befriend  me  ! 
[Aloud.]  Sir  Anthony,  most  assuredly  I  am  your  wife's 
son,  and  that  I  sincerely  believe  myself  to  be  yours 
also,  I  hope  my  duty  lias  always  shown.  Mrs.  Malaprop, 
I  am  your  most  respectful  admirer,  and  shall  be  proud 
to  add  affectionate  nephew.  I  need  not  tell  my  Lydia, 
that  she  sees  her  faithful  Beverley,  who,  knowing  the 
singular  generosity  of  her  temper,  assumed  that  name 
and  station,  which  has  proved  a  test  of  the  most  dis- 
interested love,  which1  he  now  hopes  to  enjoy  in  a  more 
elevated  character. 

LYD.  So  ! — there  will  be  no  elopement  after  all ! 

[Sullenly. 

SIR  ANTH.  Upon  my  soul,  Jack,  thou  art  a  very  im- 
pudent fellow  !  To  do  you  justice,  I  think  I  never  saw 
a  piece  of  more  consummate  assurance  ! 

ABS.  Oh,  you  flatter  me,  sir — you  compliment — 'tis 
my  modesty,  you  know,  sir — my  modesty  that  has  stood 
in  my  way. 

SIR  ANTH.  Well,  1   am   glad   you   are  not  the   dull, 


8C.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  69 


insensible  varlet  you  pretended  to  be,  however!  Fm 
glad  you  have  made  a  fool  of  your  father,  you  dog — I 
am.  So  this  was  your  penitence,  your  duty  and  obedi- 
ence !  I  thought  it  was  damned  sudden  !  You  never 
heard  their  names  before,  not  you  ! — what,  the  Languishes 
of  Worcestershire,  hey  ? — if  you  could  please  me  in  the 
affair  it  was  all  you  desired !  Ah  !  you  dissembling 
villain  !  What  !  [pointing  to  LYDIA]  she  squints,  don't 
she? — a  little  red-haired  girl! — hey?  Why,  you  hypo- 
critical young  rascal  !  I  wonder  you  an't  ashamed  to 
hold  up  your  head  ! 

ABS.  'Tis  with  difficulty,  sir.  I  am  confused — very 
much  confused,  as  you  must  perceive. 

MRS.  MAL.  O  Lud  !  Sir  Anthony ! — a  new  light 
breaks  in  upon  me  ! — hey  ! — how  !  what !  captain,  did 
you  write  the  letters  then  ?  What  !  am  I  to  thank 
you  for  the  elegant  compilation  of  an  old  weather- 
beaten  she-dragon — hey  ?  Oh,  mercy  !  was  it  you  that 
reflected  on  my  parts  of  speech  ? 

ABS.  Dear  sir !  my  modesty  will  be  overpowered  at 
last,  if  you  don't  assist  me — I  shall  certainly  not  be 
able  to  stand  it ! 

SIB  ANTH.  Come,  come,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  we  must 
forget  and  forgive — odds  life  !  matters  have  taken  so 
clever  a  turn  all  of  a  sudden,  that  I  could  find  in  my 
heart  to  be  so  good-humoured  !  and  so  gallant  ! — hey  ! 
Mrs.  Malaprop? 

MRS.  MAL.  Well,  Sir  Anthony,  since  you  desire  it,  we 
will  not  anticipate  the  past ! — so  mind,  young  people — 
our  retrospection  will  be  all  to  the  future. 

SIR  ANTH.  Come,  we  must  leave  them  together ; 
Mrs.  Malaprop,  they  long  to  fly  into  each  other's  arms, 
1  warrant !  Jack — isn't  the  cheek  as  I  said,  hey? — and 
the  eye,  you  rogue  ! — and  the  lip — hey  ?  Come,  Mrs. 
Malaprop,  we'll  not  disturb  their  tenderness — theirs 


70  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    IV. 


is  the  time  of  life  for  happiness !  Youth's  the  season 
made  for  joy — [Sings] — hey  ! — Odds  life  !  I'm  in  such 
spirits — I  don't  know  what  I  could  not  do !  Permit  me, 
ma'am.  [Gives  his  hand  to  MKS.  MALAPROP.]  Tol-de- 
rol — 'gad,  I  should  like  to  have  a  little  fooling  myself. 
Tol-de-rol!  de-rol. 

[Exit,  singing  and  handing  MRS.  MALAPROP. — LYDIA 
tits  sullenly  in  her  chair. 

ABS.  [ylside.]  So  much  thought  bodes  me  no  good. 
[Aloud.]  So  grave,  Lydia  ! 

LYD.  Sir! 

ABS.  (yi*i«te.]  So  ! — egad  !  I  thought  as  much  ! — that 
damned  monosyllable  has  froze  me !  [Aloud.]  What, 
Lydia,  now  that  we  are  as  happy  in  our  friends'  consent, 
as  in  our  mutual  vows 

LTD.  Friends'  consent  indeed  !  [Peevishly. 

Ass.  Come,  come,  we  must  lay  aside  some  of  our 
romance — a  little  wealth  and  comfort  may  be  endured 
after  all.  And  for  your  fortune  the  lawyers  shall  make 
snch  settlements  as 

LYD.  Lawyers  !     I  hate  lawyers  ! 

ABS.  Nay,  then,  we  will  not  wait  for  their  lingering 
forms,  but  instantly  procure  the  licence,  and 

LYD.  The  licence  !     I  hate  licence  ! 

ABS.  Oh  my  love  !  be  not  so  unkind  ! — thus  let  me 
entreat [Kneeling. 

LTD.  Psha  ! — what  signifies  kneeling,  when  you  know 
I  must  have  you  ? 

ABS.  [Rising.]  Nay,  madam,  there  shall  be  no  con- 
straint upon  your  inclinations,  I  promise  you.  If  I 
have  lost  your  heart — I  resign  the  rest.  [Aside.]  'Gad, 
I  must  try  what  a  little  spirit  will  do. 

LYD.  [Rising]  Then,  sir,  let  me  tell  you,  the  interest 
you  had  there  was  acquired  by  a  mean,  unmanly  imposi- 
tion, and  deserves  the  punishment  of  fraud.  What,  you 


SC.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  71 


have  been  treating  me  like  a  child  ! — humouring  my 
romance  !  and  laughing,  I  suppose,  at  your  success  ! 

ABS.  You  wrong  me,  Lydia,  you  wrong  me — only 
hear 

LTD.  So,  while  I  fondly  imagined  we  were  deceiving 
my  relations,  and  nattered  myself  that  I  should  outwit 
and  incense  them  all — behold  my  hopes  are  to  be 
crushed  at  once,  by  my  aunt's  consent  and  approbation 
— and  I  am  myself  the  only  dupe  at  last  !  [Walking 
about  in  a  heat.]  But  here,  sir,  here  is  the  picture — 
Beverley's  picture  !  [taking  a  miniature  from  her  bosom] 
which  I  have  worn,  night  and  day,  in  spite  of  threats 
and  entreaties  !  There,  sir  ;  [flings  it  to  him]  and 
be  assured  I  throw  the  original  from  my  heart  as 
easily. 

ABS.  Nay,  nay,  ma'am,  we  will  not  differ  as  to  that. 
Here — [taking  out  a  picture]  here  is  Miss  Lydia  Languish. 
WTiat  a  difference  ! — ay,  there  is  the  heavenly  assenting 
smile  that  first  gave  soul  and  spirit  to  my  hopes  ! — those 
are  the  lips  which  sealed  a  vow,  as  yet  scarce  dry  in 
Cupid's  calendar  !  and  there  the  half-resentful  blush, 
that  would  have  checked  the"  ardour  of  my  thanks  ! 
Well,  all  that's  past  ! — all  over  indeed  !  There,  madam 
— in  beauty,  that  copy  is  not  equal  to  you,  but  in  my 
mind  its  merit  over  the  original,  in  being  still  the  same, 
is  such — that — I  cannot  find  in  my  heart  to  part  with  it. 

[Puts  it  up  again. 

LYD.  [Softening.]  'Tis  your  own  doing,  sir — I — I — I 
suppose  you  are  perfectly  satisfied. 

ABS.  Oh,  most  certainly — sure  now  this  is  much 
better  than  being  in  love  ! — ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! — there's  some 
spirit  in  this  !  What  signifies  breaking  some  scores  of 
solemn  promises  ? — all  that's  of  no  consequence,  you 
know.  To  be  sure  people  will  say  that  miss  don't  know 
her  own  mind — but  never  mind  that !  Or,  perhaps, 


72  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    IV. 


they  may  be  ill-natured  enough  to  hint,  that  the  gentle- 
man grew  tired  of  the  lady  and  forsook  her — but  don't 
let  that  fret  you. 

LYD.  There  is  no  bearing  his  insolence. 

[Bursts  into  tears. 

Re-enter  MBS.  MALAPBOP  and  SIB  ANTHONY 
ABSOLUTE. 

MBS.  MAI,.  Come,  we  must  interrupt  your  billing  and 
cooing  awhile. 

LYD.  This  is  worse  than  your  treachery  and  deceit, 
you  base  ingrate  !  [Sobbing. 

SIB  ANTH.  What  the  devil's  the  matter  now? 
Zounds  !  Mrs.  Malaprop,  this  is  the  oddest  billing  and 
cooing  I  ever  heard  ! — but  what  the  deuce  is  the  mean- 
ing of  it  ?  I  am  quite  astonished  ! 

ABS.  Ask  the  lady,  sir. 

MBS.  MAL.  Oh,  mercy  !  I'm  quite  analysed,  for  my 
part !  Why,  Lydia,  what  is  the  reason  of  this  ? 

LYD.  Ask  the  gentleman,  ma'am. 

SIB  ANTH.  Zounds  !  I  shall  be  in  a  frenzy !  Why, 
Jack,  you  are  not  come  out  to  be  any  one  else,  are  you  ? 

MBS.  MAL.  Ay,  sir,  there's  no  more  trick,  is  there? — 
you  are  not  like  Cerberus,  three  gentlemen  at  once,  are 
you? 

ABS.  You'll  not  let  me  speak.  I  say  the  lady  can 
account  for  this  much  better  than  I  can. 

LYD.  Ma'am,  you  once  commanded  me  never  to  think 
of  Beverley  again.  There  is  the  man — I  now  obey  you  ! 
for,  from  this  moment,  I  renounce  him  for  ever.  [Exit. 

MBS.  MAL.  Oh,  mercy  !  and  miracles  !  what  a  turn 
here  is — why  sure,  captain,  you  haven't  behaved  dis- 
respectfully to  my  niece. 

SIB  ANTH.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! — ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! — now  I  see 


SC.    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  73 


it.     Ha !  ha  !  ha ! — now  I  see  it.     You  have  been  too 
lively,  Jack. 

ABS.  Nay,  sir,  upon  my  word 

SIB  ANTH.  Come,  no  lying,  Jack — I'm  sure  'twas  so. 

MRS.  MAI*  O  Lud  !  Sir  Anthony  ! — Oh,  fy,  captain  ! 

ABS.  Upon  my  soul,  ma'am 

SIB  ANTH.  Come,  no  excuses,  Jack  ;  why,  your  father, 
you  rogue,  was  so  before  you — the  blood  of  the  Absolutes 
was  always  impatient.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  poor  little  Lydia  ! 
Why,  you've  frightened  her,  you  dog,  you  have. 

ABS.  By  all  that's  good,  sir 

SIB  ANTH.  Zounds  !  say  no  more,  I  tell  you — Mrs. 
Malaprop  shall  make  your  peace.  You  must  make  his 
peace,  Mrs.  Malaprop.  You  must  tell  her  'tis  Jack's 
way — tell  her  'tis  all  our  ways — it  runs  in  the  blood  of 
our  family  !  Come  away,  Jack.  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  Mrs. 
Malaprop — a  young  villain  !  [Pushing  him  out. 

MBS.  MAL.  Oh  !  Sir  Anthony  ! — Oh,  fy,  captain  ! 

[Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE  in. 

The  North  Parade. 
Enter  SIB  Lucius  O'TBIGGER. 

SIB  Luc.  I  wonder  where  this  Captain  Absolute 
hides  himself!  Upon  my  conscience  !  these  officers  are 
always  in  one's  way  in  love  affairs.  I  remember  I 
might  have  married  Lady  Dorothy  Carmine,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  a  little  rogue  of  a  major,  who  ran  away 
with  her  before  she  could  get  a  sight  of  me !  And  I 
wonder,  too,  what  it  is  the  ladies  can  see  in  them  to  be 
so  fond  of  them — unless  it  be  a  touch  of  the  old  serpent 
in  'em,  that  makes  the  little  creatures  be  caught,  like 


74  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    IV. 


vipers,  with  a  bit  of  red  cloth.  Ha  !  isn't  this  the 
captain  coming  ? — faith  it  is  !  There  is  a  probability 
of  succeeding  about  that  fellow,  that  is  mighty 
provoking  !  Who  the  devil  is  he  talking  to  ? 

[Steps  aside. 

Enter  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE. 

ABS.  [Aside.]  To  what  fine  purpose  I  have  been 
plotting  ! — a  noble  reward  for  all  my  schemes,  upon  my 
soul ! — a  little  gipsy  !  I  did  not  think  her  romance 
could  have  made  her  so  damned  absurd  either.  'Sdeath, 
I  never  was  in  a  worse  humour  in  my  life  !  I  could  cut 
my  own  throat,  or  any  other  person's,  with  the  greatest 
pleasure  in  the  world  ! 

SIB  Luc.  Oh,  faith  !  I'm  in  the  luck  of  it.  I  never 
could  have  found  him  in  a  sweeter  temper  for  my 
purpose — to  be  sure,  I'm  just  come  in  the  nick  !  Now 
to  enter  into  conversation  with  him,  and  so  quarrel 
genteelly.  [Goes  up  to  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE.]  With 
regard  to  that  matter,  captain,  I  must  beg  leave  to 
differ  in  opinion  with  you. 

ABS.  Upon  my  word,  then,  you  must  be  a  very  subtle 
disputant,  because,  sir,  I  happened  just  then  to  be 
giving  no  opinion  at  all. 

SIR  Luc.  That's  no  reason.  For  give  me  leave  to 
tell  you,  a  man  may  think  an  untruth  as  well  as  speak 
one. 

ABS.  Very  true,  sir ;  but  if  a  man  never  utters  his 
thoughts,  I  should  think  they  might  stand  a  chance  of 
escaping  controversy. 

SIB  Luc.  Then,  sir,  you  differ  in  opinion  with  me, 
which  amounts  to  the  same  thing. 

ABS.  Hark'ee,  Sir  Lucius,  if  1  had  not  before  known 
you  to  be  a  gentleman,  upon  my  soul,  I  should  not 


SC.    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  75 


have  discovered  it  at  this  interview ;  for  what  you  can 
drive  at,  unless  you  mean  to  quarrel  with  me,  I  cannot 
conceive ! 

SIR  Luc.  1  humbly  thank  you,  sir,  for  the  quickness 
of  your  apprehension.  [Bowing.]  You  have  named  the 
very  thing  I  would  be  at. 

ABS.  Very  well,  sir,  I  shall  certainly  not  balk  your 
inclinations.  But  1  should  be  glad  you  would  please  to 
explain  your  motives. 

SIR  Luo.  Pray,  sir,  be  easy ;  the  quarrel  is  a  very 
pretty  quarrel  as  it  stands,  we  should  only  spoil  it  by 
trying  to  explain  it.  However,  your  memory  is  very 
short,  or  you  could  not  have  forgot  an  affront  you 
passed  on  me  within  this  week.  So,  no  more,  but 
name  your  time  and  place. 

ABS.  Well,  sir,  since  you  are  so  bent  on  it,  the 
sooner  the  better ;  let  it  be  this  evening — here,  by  the 
Spring  Gardens.  We  shall  scarcely  be  interrupted. 

SIR  Luc.  Faith  !  that  same  interruption  in  affairs  of 
this  nature  shows  very  great  ill-breeding.  I  don't 
know  what's  the  reason,  but  in  England,  if  a  thing 
of  this  kind  gets  wind,  people  make  such  a  pother, 
that  a  gentleman  can  never  fight  in  peace  and  quietness. 
However,  if  it's  the  same  to  you,  captain,  J  should  take 
it  as  a  particular  kindness  if  you'd  let  us  meet  in 
King's-Mead-Fields,  as  a  little  business  will  call  me 
there  about  six  o'clock,  and  I  may  despatch  both 
matters  at  once. 

ABS.  Tis  the  same  to  me  exactly.  A  little  after  six, 
then,  we  will  discuss  this  matter  more  seriously. 

SIR  Luc.  If  you  please,  sir  ;  there  will  be  very  pretty 
small-sword  light,  though  it  won't  do  for  a  long  shot. 
So  that  matter's  settled,  and  my  mind's  at  ease.  [Exit. 


76  THE     RIVALS.  JACT    IV. 


Enter  FAULKLAND. 

ABS.  Well  met  !  I  was  going  to  look  for  you.  O 
Faulkland  !  all  the  demons  of  spite  and  disappointment 
have  conspired  against  me  !  I'm  so  vexed,  that  if  I  had 
not  the  prospect  of  a  resource  in  being  knocked  o'  the 
head  by-and-by,  I  should  scarce  have  spirits  to  tell  you 
the  cause. 

FAULK.  What  can  you  mean  ?  Has  Lydia  changed 
her  mind?  I  should  have  thought  her  duty  and 
inclination  would  now  have  pointed  to  the  same 
object. 

ABS.  Ay,  just  as  the  eyes  do  of  a  person  who  squints. 
When  her  love-eye  was  fixed  on  me,  t'other,  her  eye  of 
duty,  was  finely  obliqued  :  but  when  duty  bid  her  point 
that  the  same  way,  off  t'other  turned  on  a  swivel,  and 
secured  its  retreat  with  a  frown  ! 

FAULK.  But  what's  the  resource  you 

ABS.  Oh,  to  wind  up  the  whole,  a  good-natured 
Irishman  here  has  [mimicking  SIR  Lucius]  begged  leave 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  cutting  my  throat ;  and  I  mean 
to  indulge  him — that's  all. 

FAULK.  Prithee,  be  serious  ! 

ABS.  'Tis  fact,  upon  my  soul !  Sir  Lucius  OTrigger 
— you  know  him  by  sight — for  some  affront,  which  I  am 
sure  I  never  intended,  has  obliged  me  to  meet  him  this 
evening  at  six  o'clock.  'Tis  on  that  account  I  wished  to 
see  you  ;  you  must  go  with  me. 

FAULK.  Nay,  there  must  be  some  mistake,  sure.  Sir 
Lucius  shall  explain  himself,  and  I  dare  say  matters 
may  be  accommodated.  But  this  evening,  did  you  say  ? 
I  wish  it  had  been  any  other  time. 

ABS.  Why  ?  there  will  be  light  enough  ;  there  will 
(as  Sir  Lucius  says)  be  very  pretty  small-sword  light, 


SC.    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  77 


though  it  will  not  do  for  a  long  shot.  Confound  his 
long  shots  ! 

FAULK.  But  I  am  myself  a  good  deal  ruffled  by  a 
difference  I  have  had  with  Julia.  My  vile  tormenting 
temper  has  made  me  treat  her  so  cruelly,  that  I  shall 
not  be  myself  till  we  are  reconciled. 

ABS.  By  Heavens  !  Fan  Ikland,  you  don't  deserve  her ! 

Enter  SERVANT,  gives  FAULKLAND  a  letter,  and  exit. 

FAULK.  Oh,  Jack  !  this  is  from  Julia.  I  dread  to 
open  it !  I  fear  it  may  be  to  take  a  last  leave  ! — perhaps 

to  bid  me  return  her  letters,  and  restore Oh,  how 

I  suffer  for  my  folly  ! 

ABS.  Here,  let  me  see.  [Takes  the  letter  and  open*  it."] 
Ay,  a  final  sentence,  indeed  ! — 'tis  all  over  with  you,  faith  ! 

FAULK.  Nay,  Jack,  don't  keep  me  in  suspense  ! 

ABS.  Hear  then.  [Heads.]  As  I  am  convinced  that 
my  dear  Faulkland's  own  reflections  have  already  up- 
braided him  for  his  last  unkindness  to  me,  I  will  not  add 
a  word  on  the  subject.  I  wish  to  speak  with  you  as  soon  as 
possible.  Yours  ever  and  truly,  JULIA.  There's  stubborn- 
ness and  resentment  for  you  1  [Gives  him  the  letter.] 
Why,  man,  you  don't  seem  one  whit  the  happier  at  this  ! 

FAULK.  Oh  yes,  I  am  ;  but — but 

ABS.  Confound  your  buts !  you  never  hear  anything 
that  would  make  another  man  bless  himself,  but  you 
immediately  damn  it  with  a  but ! 

FAULK.  Now,  Jack,  as  you  are  my  friend,  own  honestly 
— don't  you  think  there  is  something  forward,  something 
indelicate,  in  this  haste  to  forgive?  Women  should 
never  sue  for  reconciliation  :  that  should  always  come 
from  us.  They  should  retain  their  coldness  till  wooed 
to  kindness ;  and  their  pardon,  like  their  love,  should 
"not  unsought  be  won." 


78  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    V. 


ABS.  I  have  not  patience  to  listen  to  you  !  Thou'rt 
incorrigible  !  so  say  no  more  on  the  subject.  I  must  go 
to  settle  a  few  matters.  Let  me  see  you  before  six, 
remember,  at  my  lodgings.  A  poor  industrious  devil 
like  me,  who  have  toiled,  andjdrudged,  and  plotted  to 
gain  my  ends,  and  am  at  last  disappointed  by  other 
people's  folly,  may  in  pity  be  allowed  to  swear  and 
grumble  a  little ;  but  a  captious  sceptic  in  love,  a  slave 
to  fretfulness  and  whim,  who  has  no  difficulties  but  of 
his  own  creating,  is  a  subject  more  fit  for  ridicule  than 
compassion.  [Exit. 

FAULK.  I  feel  hig  reproaches  ;  yet  I  would  not  change 
this  too  exquisite  nicety  for  the  gross  content  with 
which  he  tramples  on  the  thorns  of  love  !  His  en- 
gaging me  in  this  duel  has  started  an  idea  in  my  head, 
which  I  will  instantly  pursue.  I'll  use  it  as  the  touch- 
stone of  Julia's  sincerity  and  disinterestedness.  If  her 
love  prove  pure  and  sterling  ore,  my  name  will  rest  on 
it  with  honour ;  and  once  I've  stamped  it  there,  I  lay 
aside  my  doubts  for  ever  !  But  if  the  dross  of  selfish- 
ness, the  alloy  of  pride,  predominate,  'twill  be  best  to 
leave  her  as  a  toy  for  some  less  cautious  fool  to  sigh 
for !  [Exit. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

SCENE   I. 

JUIJA'S  Dressing-Room. 
JULIA  discovered  alone. 

JUL.  How  this  message  has  alarmed  me  !  what  dread- 
ful accident  can  he  mean  ?  why  such  charge  to  be  alone  ? 
O  Faulkland  ! — how  many  unhappy  moments — how  many 
tears  have  you  cost  me  ! 


SC.    L]  THE     RIVALS.  79 


Enter  FAULKLAND. 

JUL.  What  means  this?  —  why  this  caution,  Faulk- 
land? 

FAULK.  Alas  !  Julia,  I  am  come  to  take  a  long  fare- 
well. 

JUL.  Heavens  !  what  do  you  mean  ? 

FAULK.  You  see  before  you  a  wretch,  whose  life  is 
forfeited.  Nay,  start  not ! — the  infirmity  of  my  temper 
has  drawn  all  this  misery  on  me.  I  left  you  fretful  and 
passionate — an  untoward  accident  drew  me  into  a  quarrel 
— the  event  is,  that  I  must  fly  this  kingdom  instantly. 

0  Julia,  had  I  been  so  fortunate  as  to  have  called  you 
mine  entirely,  before  this  mischance  had  fallen  on  me,  I 
should  not  so  deeply  dread  my  banishment ! 

JUL.  My  soul  is  oppressed  with  sorrow  at  the  nature 
of  your  misfortune.  Had  these  adverse  circumstances 
arisen  from  a  less  fatal  cause,  1  should  have  felt  strong 
comfort  in  the  thought  that  I  could  now  chase  from 
your  bosom  every  doubt  of  the  warm  sincerity  of  my 
love.  My  heart  has  long  known  no  other  guardian — 

1  now  entrust  my  person  to  your  honour — we  will  fly 
together.      When  safe  from  pursuit,  my  father's  will 
may  be  fulfilled — and  I  receive  a  legal  claim  to  be  the 
partner  of  your  sorrows  and  tenderest  comforter.     Then 
on  the  bosom  of  your  wedded  Julia,  you  may  lull  your 
keen  regret  to  slumbering ;  while  virtuous  love,  with  a 
cherub's  hand,   shall  smooth   the   brow  of  upbraiding 
thought,  and  pluck  the  thorn  from  compunction. 

FAULK.  O  Julia  !  I  am  bankrupt  in  gratitude !  but 
the  time  is  so  pressing,  it  calls  on  you  for  so  hasty  a 
resolution.  Would  you  not  wish  some  hours  to 
weigh  the  advantages  you  forego,  and  what  little  com- 
pensation poor  Faulkland  can  make  you  beside  his  soli- 
tary love  ? 


80  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    V. 


JUL.  I  ask  not  a  moment.  No,  Faulkland,  I  have 
loved  you  for  yourself;  and  if  I  now,  more  than  ever, 
prize  the  solemn  engagement  which  so  long  has  pledged 
us  to  each  other,  it  is  because  it  leaves  no  room  for  hard 
aspersions  on  my  fame,  and  puts  the  seal  of  duty  to  an 
act  of  love.  But  let  us  not  linger.  Perhaps  this 
delay 

FAULK.  'Twill  be  better  I  should  not  venture  out 
again  till  dark.  Yet  am  I  grieved  to  think  what 
numberless  distresses  will  press  heavy  on  your  gentle 
disposition  ! 

JUL,.  Perhaps  your  fortune  may  be  forfeited  by  this 
unhappy  act.  I  know  not  whether  'tis  so ;  but  sure 
that  alone  can  never  make  us  unhappy.  The  little  I 
have  will  be  sufficient  to  support  us ;  and  exile  never 
should  be  splendid. 

FAULK.  Ay,  but  in  such  an  abject  state  of  life,  my 
wounded  pride  perhaps  may  increase  the  natural  fretful- 
ness  of  my  temper,  till  I  become  a  rude,  morose  com- 
panion, beyond  your  patience  to  endure.  Perhaps  the 
recollection  of  a  deed  my  conscience  cannot  justify  may 
haunt  me  in  such  gloomy  and  unsocial  fits  that  I  shall 
hate  the  tenderness  that  would  relieve  me,  break  from 
your  arms,  and  quarrel  with  your  fondness. 

JUL.  If  your  thoughts  should  assume  so  unhappy  a 
bent,  you  will  the  more  want  some  mild  and  affectionate 
spirit  to  watch  over  and  console  you  :  one  who,  by 
bearing  your  infirmities  with  gentleness  and  resignation, 
may  teach  you  so  to  bear  the  evils  of  your  fortune. 

FAULK.  Julia,  I  have  proved  you  to  the  quick !  and 
with  this  useless  device  I  throw  away  all  my  doubts. 
How  shall  I  plead  to  be  forgiven  this  last  unworthy 
effect  of  my  restless,  unsatisfied  disposition  ? 

JUL.   Has  no  such  disaster  happened  as  you  related  ? 

FAULK.   I  am  ashamed  to  own  that  it  was  pretended  ; 


8C.    I.]  THE     RIVALS.  81 


yet  in  pity,  Julia,  do  not  kill  me  with  resenting  a  fault 
which  never  can  be  repeated :  but  sealing,  this  once,  my 
pardon,  let  me  to-morrow,  in  the  face  of  Heaven,  receive 
my  future  guide  and  monitress,  and  expiate  my  past 
folly  by  years  of  tender  adoration. 

JUL.  Hold,  Faulkland ! — that  you  are  free  from  a 
crime,  which  I  before  feared  to  name,  Heaven  knows 
how  sincerely  I  rejoice  !  These  are  tears  of  thankful- 
ness for  that !  But  that  your  cruel  doubts  should 
have  urged  you  to  an  imposition  that  has  wrung  my 
heart,  gives  me  now  a  pang  more  keen  than  I  can 
express ! 

FAULK.  By  Heavens  !  Julia 

Jut.  Yet  hear  me.  My  father  loved  you,  Faulkland  ' 
and  you  preserved  the  life  that  tender  parent  gave  me  ; 
in  his  presence  I  pledged  my  hand — joyfully  pledged  it 
— where  before  I  had  given  my  heart.  When,  soon 
after,  I  lost  that  parent,  it  seemed  to  me  that  Providence 
had,  in  Faulkland,  shown  me  whither  to  transfer  without 
a  pause,  my  grateful  duty,  as  well  as  my  affection  :  hence, 
I  have  been  content  to  bear  from  you  what  pride  and 
delicacy  would  have  forbid  me  from  another.  I  will  not 
upbraid  you,  by  repeating  how  you  have  trifled  with  my 
sincerity 

FAULK.  I  confess  it  all !  yet  hear 

JUL.  After  such  a  year  of  trial,  I  might  have  flattered 
myself  that  I  should  not  have  been  insulted  with  a 
new  probation  of  my  sincerity,  as  cruel  as  unnecessary  ! 
I  now  see  it  is  not  in  your  nature  to  be  content  or 
confident  in  love.  With  this  conviction — I  never  will 
be  yours.  While  I  had  hopes  that  my  persevering 
attention,  and  nnreproaching  kindness,  might  in  time 
reform  your  temper,  I  should  have  been  happy  to  have 
gained  a  dearer  influence  over  you ;  but  I  will  not 
famish  you  with  a  licensed  power  to  keep  alive  ar. 


82  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    V. 

incorrigible  fault,  at  the  expense  of  one  who  never 
would  contend  with  you. 

FAULK.  Nay,  but,  Julia,  by  my  soul  and  honour,  if 
after  this 

JUL.  But  one  word  more.  As  my  faith  has  once  been 
given  to  you,  I  never  will  barter  it  with  another.  I 
shall  pray  for  your  happiness  with  the  truest  sincerity ; 
and  the  dearest  blessing  I  can  ask  of  Heaven  to  send 
you  will  be  to  charm  you  from  that  unhappy  temper, 
which  alone  has  prevented  the  performance  of  our 
solemn  engagement.  All  I  request  of  you  is,  that  you 
will  yourself  reflect  upon  this  infirmity,  and  when  you 
number  up  the  many  true  delights  it  has  deprived  you 
of,  let  it  not  be  your  least  regret,  that  it  lost  you  the 
love  of  one  who  would  have  followed  you  in  beggary 
through  the  world  !  [Exit. 

FAULK.  She's  gone — for  ever  !  There  was  an  awful 
resolution  in  her  manner  that  riveted  me  to  my  place. 
O  fool  ! — dolt ! — barbarian  !  Cursed  as  I  am,  with  more 
imperfections  than  my  fellow- wretches,  kind  Fortune 
sent  a  heaven-gifted  cherub  to  my  aid,  and,  like  a 
ruffian,  I  have  driven  her  from  my  side  !  I  must  now 
haste  to  my  appointment.  Well,  my  mind  is  tuned  for 
such  a  scene.  I  shall  wish  only  to  become  a  principal 
in  it,  and  reverse  the  tale  my  cursed  folly  put  me  upon 
forging  here.  O  Love  ! — tormentor  ! — fiend  ! — whose 
influence,  like  the  moon's,  acting  on  men  of  dull  souls, 
makes  idiots  of  them,  but  meeting  subtler  spirits, 
betrays  their  course,  and  urges  sensibility  to  madness  ! 

[Exit. 


MAID.  My  mistrasa,   ma'am,   I  know,  was  here  just 
now — perhaps  she  is  only  in  the  next  room.  [Emt 


SC.    I.]  THE     RIVALS.  83 


LYD.  Heigh-ho !  Though  he  has  used  me  so,  this 
fellow  runs  strangely  in  my  head.  I  believe  one  lecture 
from  my  grave  cousin  will  make  me  recall  him.  [Re- 
enter  JULIA.]  O  Julia,  I  am  come  to  you  with  such  an 
appetite  for  consolation.  Lud  !  child,  what's  the  matter 
with  you  ?  You  have  been  crying  ! — I'll  be  hanged  if 
that  Faulkland  has  not  been  tormenting  you  ! 

JUL.  You  mistake  the  cause  of  my  uneasiness  !  Some- 
thing has  flurried  me  a  little.  Nothing  that  you  can 
guess  at.  [-A«irfe.]  I  would  not  accuse  Faulkland  to  a 
sister  ! 

LYD.  Ah  !  whatever  vexations  you  may  have,  I  can 
assure  you  mine  surpass  them.  You  know  who  Beverley 
proves  to  be  ? 

JUL.  I  will  now  own  to  you,  Lydia,  that  Faulkland 
had  before  informed  me  of  the  whole  affair.  Had  young 
Absolute  been  the  person  you  took  him  for,  I  should 
not  have  accepted  your  confidence  on  the  subject,  with- 
out a  serious  endeavour  to  counteract  your  caprice. 

LYD.  So,  then,  I  see  I  have  been  deceived  by  every 
one.  But  I  don't  care — I'll  never  have  him. 

JUL.  Nay,  Lydia 

LTD.  Why,  is  it  not  provoking  ?  when  I  thought  we 
were  coming  to  the  prettiest  distress  imaginable,  to  find 
myself  made  a  mere  Smithfield  bargain  of  at  last ! 
There  had  I  projected  one  of  the  most  sentimental 
elopements  ! — so  becoming  a  disguise  ! — so  amiable  a 
ladder  of  ropes  ! — conscious  moon — four  horses — Scotch 
parson — with  such  surprise  to  Mrs.  Malaprop — and  such 
paragraphs  in  the  newspapers  !  Oh  !  I  shall  die  with 
disappointment ! 

JCL.  I  don't  wonder  at  it ! 

LYD.  Now — sad  reverse  ! — what  have  I  to  expect,  but, 
after  a  deal  of  flimsy  preparation  with  a  bishop's  licence, 
and  my  aunt's  blessing,  to  go  simpering  up  to  the  altar ; 


84  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    V. 


or  perhaps  be  cried  three  times  in  a  country  church, 
and  have  an  unmannerly  fat  clerk  ask  the  consent  of 
every  butcher  in  the  parish  to  join  John  Absolute  and 
Lydia  Languish,  spinster  !  Oh  that  I  should  live  to 
hear  myself  called  spinster  ! 

JUL.  Melancholy  indeed  ! 

LYD.  How  mortifying,  to  remember  the  dear  delicious 
shifts  I  used  to  be  put  to,  to  gain  half  a  minute's  con- 
versation with  this  fellow  !  How  often  have  I  stole 
forth,  in  the  coldest  night  in  January,  and  found  him 
in  the  garden,  stuck  like  a  dripping  statue !  There 
would  he  kneel  to  me  in  the  snow,  and  sneeze  and 
cough  so  pathetically  ! — he  shivering  with  cold  and  I 
with  apprehension  !  —  and  while  the  freezing  blast 
numbed  our  joints,  how'warmly  would  he  press  me  to 
pity  his  flame,  and  glow  with  mutual  ardour  !  Ah, 
Julia,  that  was  something  like  being  in  love. 

JUL.  If  I  were  in  spirits,  Lydia,  1  should  chide  you 
only  by  laughing  heartily  at  you  ;  but  it  suits  more  the 
situation  of  my  mind,  at  present,  earnestly  to  entreat 
you  not  to  let  a  man,  who  loves  you  with  sincerity, 
suffer  that  unhappiuess  from  your  caprice,  which  I  know 
too  well  caprice  can  inflict. 

LYD.  O  Lud  !  what  has  brought  my  aunt  here  ? 

Enter  MRS.  MALAPBOP,  FAG,  and  DAVID. 

MBS.  MAL.  So  !  so  !  here's  fine  work  ! — here's  fine 
suicide,  parricide,  and  simulation,  going  on  in  the  fields  ! 
and  Sir  Anthony  not  to  be  found  to  prevent  the  antis- 
trophe  ! 

JUL.  For  Heaven's  sake,  madam,  what's  the  meaning 
of  this  ? 

MBS.  MAL.  That  gentleman  can  tell  you — 'twas  he 
enveloped  the  affair  to  me 


BC.    I.]  THE     RIVALS.  85 


LYD.  Do,  sir — will  you,  inform  us  ?  \To  FAG. 

FAG.  Ma'am,  I  should  hold  myself  very  deficient  in 
every  requisite  that  forms  the  man  of  breeding,  if  I 
delayed  a  moment  to  give  all  the  information  in  my 
power  to  a  lady  so  deeply  interested  in  the  affair  as 
you  are. 

LYD.  But  quick  !  quick,  sir  ! 

FAG.  True,  ma'am,  as  you  say,  one  should  be  quick 
in  divulging  matters  of  this  nature ;  for  should  we 
be  tedious,  perhaps  while  we  are  flourishing  on  the 
subject,  two  or  three  lives  may  be  lost ! 

LYD.  Oh,  patience !  Do,  ma'am,  for  heaven's  sake  ! 
tell  us  what  is  the  matter  ? 

MRS.  MAL.  Why,  murder's  the  matter !  slaughter's 
the  matter  !  killing's  the  matter  ! — but  he  can  tell  you 
the  perpendiculars. 

LYD.  Then,  prithee,  sir,  be  brief. 

FAG.  Why,  then,  ma'am,  as  to  murder — I  cannot  take 
upon  me  to  say — and  as  to  slaughter,  or  manslaughter, 
that  will  be  as  the  jury  finds  it. 

LYD.  But  who,  sir — who  are  engaged  in  this  ? 

FAG.  Faith,  ma'am,  one  is  a  young  gentleman  whom 
I  should  be  very  sorry  anything  was  to  happen  to — a 
very  pretty  behaved  gentleman  !  We  have  lived  much 
together,  and  always  on  terms. 

LYD.  But  who  is  this  ?     Who  !  who  !  who  ? 

FAG.  My  master,  ma'am — my  master — I  speak  of  my 
master. 

LYD.  Heavens  !     What,  Captain  Absolute  ? 

MRS.  MAL.  Oh,  to  be  sure,  you  are  frightened  now  ! 

JUL.   But  who  are  with  him,  sir  ? 

FAG.  As  to  the  rest,  ma'am,  this  gentleman  can 
inform  you  better  than  I. 

JUL.   Do  speak,  friend.  [To  DAVID. 

DAV.    Look'ee,     my    lady — by    the    mass  !     there's 


86  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT   V. 


mischief  going  on.  Folks  don't  use  to  meet  for 
amusement  with  fire  -  arms,  firelocks,  fire  -  engines, 
fire-screens,  fire-office,  and  the  devil  knows  what 
other  crackers  beside  !  This,  my  lady,  I  say,  has  an 
angry  favour. 

JUL.  But  who  is  there  beside  Captain  Absolute,  friend? 

DAV.  My  poor  master — under  favour  for  mentioning 
him  first.  You  know  me,  my  lady — I  am  David — and 
my  master  of  course  is,  or  was,  Squire  Acres.  Then 
comes  Squire  Faulkland. 

JUL.  Do,  ma'am,  let  us  instantly  endeavour  to  prevent 
mischief. 

MRS.  MAL.  Oh,  fy  !  it  vould  be  very  inelegant  in  us. 
We  should  only  participate  things. 

DAV.  Ah  !  do,  Mrs.  Aunt,  save  a  few  lives — they  are 
desperately  given,  believe  me.  Above  all,  there  is  that 
bloodthirsty  Philistine,  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger. 

MRS.  MAL.  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger?  Oh,  mercy!  have 
they  drawn  poor  little  dear  Sir  Lucius  into  the  scrape? 
Why,  how  you  stand,  girl  !  You  have  no  more  feeling 
than  one  of  the  Derbyshire  petrifactions  ! 

LYD.  What  are  we  to  do,  madam  ? 

MBS.  MAL.  Why,  fly  with  the  utmost  felicity,  to  be 
sure,  to  prevent  mischief !  Here,  friend,  you  can  show 
us  the  place  ? 

FAG.  If  you  please,  ma'am,  I  will  conduct  you 
David,  do  you  look  for  Sir  Anthony.  [Exit  DAVID. 

MBS.  MAL.  Come,  girls !  this  gentleman  will  exhort 
us.  Come,  sir,  you're  our  envoy — lead  the  way,  and 
we'll  precede. 

FAG.  Not  a  step  before  the  ladies  for  the  world  ! 

MBS.  MAL.  You're  sure  you  know  the  spot  ? 

FAG.  I  think  I  can  find  it,  ma'am  ;  and  one  good 
thing  is,  we  shall  hear  the  report  of  the  pistols  as  we 
draw  near,  so  we  can't  well  miss  them — never  fear, 
ma'am,  never  fear.  [Exeunt,  he  talking. 


8C.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  8? 


SCENE  DL 
The  South  Parade. 

Enter  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE,  putting  his  tword  under 
his  greatcoat. 

ABS.  A  sword  seen  in  the  streets  of  Bath  would  raise 
as  great  an  alarm  as  a  mad  dog.  How  provoking  this  is 
in  Faulkland  ! — never  punctual !  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
go  without  him  at  last.  Oh,  the  devil  !  here's  Sir 
Anthony  !  how  shall  I  escape  him  ? 

[Muffles  up  his  face,  and  takes  a  circle  to  go  off. 

Enter  SIR  ANTHONY  ABSOLUTE. 

SIR  ANTH.  How  one  may  be  deceived  at  a  little  dis- 
tance ;  only  that  I  see  he  don't  know  me,  I  could  have 
sworn  that  was  Jack  ! — Hey  !  Gad's  life  !  it  is.  Why, 
Jack,  what  are  you  afraid  of  ?  hey ! — sure  I'm  right. 
Why,  Jack,  Jack  Absolute  !  [Goes  up  to  him. 

ABS.  Really,  sir,  you  have  the  advantage  of  me. 
I  don't  remember  ever  to  have  had  the  honour — my 
name  is  Saunderson,  at  your  service. 

SIR  ANTH.  Sir,  I  beg  your  pardon — I  took  you — hey? 
— why,  zounds  !  it  is  !  Stay !  [Looks  up  to  his  face.] 
So,  so — your  humble  servant,  Mr.  Saunderson  !  Why, 
you  scoundrel,  what  tricks  are  you  after  now  ? 

ABS.  Oh,  a  joke,  sir,  a  joke !  I  came  here  on  purpose 
to  look  for  you,  sir. 

SIR  ANTH.  You  did  ?  Well,  I  am  glad  you  were  so 
lucky — but  what  are  you  muffled  up  so  for?  What's 
this  for  ? — hey  ! 

ABS.  'Tis  cool,  sir ;  isn't  it  ? — rather  chilly  somehow 
—but  I  shall  be  late — I  have  a  particular  engagement. 


88  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    V. 


SIR  ANTH.  Stay  !  Why,  I  thought  you  were  looking 
for  me  !  Pray,  Jack,  where  is't  you  are  going  ? 

ABS.  Going,  sir? 

SIB  ANTH.  Ay,  where  are  you  going  ? 

ABS.  Where  am  I  going  ? 

SIB  ANTH.  You  unmannerly  puppy  ! 

ABS.  I  was  going,  sir— to — to — to — to  Lydia — sir,  to 
Lydia — to  make  matters  up  if  I  could — and  I  was  looking 
for  you,  sir,  to — to 

SIB  ANTH.  To  go  with  you,  I  suppose.  Well,  come 
along. 

ABS.  Oh  !  zounds  !  no,  sir,  not  for  the  world !  I 

wished  to  meet  with  you,  sir — to — to — to You  find 

it  cool,  I'm  sure,  sir — you'd  better  not  stay  out. 

SIB  ANTH.  Cool ! — not  at  all.  Well,  Jack,  and  what 
will  you  say  to  Lydia  ? 

ABS.  Oh,  sir,  beg  her  pardon,  humour  her — promise 
and  vow.  But  I  detain  you,  sir.  Consider  the  cold  air 
on  your  gout. 

SIB  ANTH.  Oh,  not  at  all ! — not  at  all  !  I'm  in  no 
hurry.  Ah  !  Jack,  you  youngsters,  when  once  you  are 
wounded  here.  [Putting  his  hand  to  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE'S 
breast.]  Hey  !  what  the  deuce  have  you  got  here  ? 

ABS.  Nothing,  sir— nothing. 

SIB  ANTH.  What's  this  ? — here's  something  damned 
hard. 

ABS.  Oh,  trinkets,  sir  !  trinkets  ! — a  bauble  for  Lydia! 

SIB  ANTH.  Nay,  let  me  see  your  taste.  [Pulls  his  coat 
open,  the  sword  falls.]  Trinkets  ! — a  bauble  for  Lydia  ! 
Zounds !  sirrah,  you  are  not  going  to  cut  her  throat, 
are  you? 

ABS.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  I  thought  it  would  divert  you, 
sir,  though  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you  till  afterwards. 

SIB  ANTH.  You  didn't  ?  Yes,  this  is  a  very  diverting 
trinket,  truly ! 


SC.    II.]  THE     RIVALS.  89 


ABS.  Sir,  I'll  explain  to  you.  You  know,  sir,  Lydia 
is  romantic,  devilish  romantic,  and  very  absurd,  of 
course  :  now,  sir,  I  intend,  if  she  refuses  to  forgive  me, 
to  unsheathe  this  sword,  and  swear — I'll  fall  upon  its 
point,  and  expire  at  her  feet ! 

SIR  ANTH.  Fall  upon  a  fiddlestick's  end !  Why,  I 
suppose  it  is  the  very  thing  that  would  please  her.  Get 
along,  you  fool ! 

ABS.  Well,  sir,  you  shall  hear  of  my  success — you 
shall  hear.  0  Lydia /—forgive  me,  or  this  pointed  steel 
— says  I. 

SIR  ANTH.  0  booby  !  stab  away  and  welcome — says  she. 
Get  along !  and  damn  your  trinkets  ! 

[Exit  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE. 


Enter  DAVID,  running. 

DAV.  Stop  him  !  stop  him !  Murder  !  Thief !  Fire  ! 
Stop  fire !  Stop  fire  !  O  Sir  Anthony— call !  call !  bid 
'm  stop !  Murder  !  Fire  1 

SIR  ANTH.  Fire  !     Murder ! — Where  ? 

DAV.  Oons  !  he's  out  of  sight !  and  I'm  out  of  breath  ! 
for  my  part !  O  Sir  Anthony,  why  didn't  you  stop  him  ? 
— why  didn't  you  stop  him  ? 

SIR  ANTH.  Zounds  !  the  fellow's  mad  !  Stop  whom  ? 
Stop  Jack  ? 

DAV.  Ay,  the  captain,  sir  1  —  there's  murder  and 
slaughter 

SIR  ANTH.  Murder  ! 

DAV.  Ay,  please  you,  Sir  Anthony,  there's  all  kinds 
of  murder,  all  sorts  of  slaughter  to  be  seen  in  the  fields  : 
there's  fighting  going  on,  sir  —  bloody  sword-and-gun 
fighting ! 

SIB  ANTH.  Who  are  going  to  fight,  dunce  ? 

DAV.  Everybody  that  I  know  of,  Sir  Anthony — every- 


90  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    V. 


body  is  going  to  fight — my  poor  master,  Sir  Lucius 
O'Trigger,  your  son,  the  captain 

SIR  ANTH.  Oh,  the  dog !  I  see  hia  tricks.  Do  you 
know  the  place  ? 

DAV.  King's-Mead-Fields. 

SIB  ANTH.  You  know  the  way  ? 

DAV.  Not  an  inch  ;  but  I'll  call  the  mayor — aldermen 
— constables — churchwardens — and  beadles.  We  can't 
be  too  many  to  part  them. 

SIR  ANTH.  Come  along  —  give  me  your  shoulder ! 
We'll  get  assistance  as  we  go — the  lying  villain  !  Well, 
I  shall  be  in  such  a  frenzy !  So — this  was  the  history  of 
his  trinkets  1  I'll  bauble  him !  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IIL 

King's- Mead-Field*. 
Enter  SIR  Luortrs  O'TRIOGER  and  ACRES,  with  pistolt. 

ACBHS.  By  my  valour !  then,  Sir  Lucius,  forty  yards 
is  a  good  distance.  Odds  levels  and  aims  !  I  say  it  is  a 
good  distance. 

SIR  Luc.  Is  it  for  muskets  or  small  field-pieces  ? 
Upon  my  conscience,  Mr.  Acres,  you  must  leave  those 
things  to  me.  Stay  now — I'll  show  you.  [Measure* 
pace*  along  the  stage.}  There  now,  that  is  a  very  pretty 
distance — a  pretty  gentleman's  distance. 

ACRES.  Zounds !  we  might  as  well  fight  in  a  sentry- 
box  I  I  tell  you,  Sir  Lucius,  the  farther  he  is  off,  the 
cooler  I  shall  take  my  aim. 

SIR  Loc.  Faith  1  then,  I  suppose  you  would  aim  at 
him  best  of  all  if  he  was  out  of  sight ! 

ACRES.  No,  Sir  Lucius ;  but  I  should  think  forty  or 
cight-nnd-thirty  yards 


SC.    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  91 


SIB  Luc.  Pho !  pho !  nonsense !  three  or  tour  feet 
between  the  mouths  of  your  pistols  is  as  good  as  a  mile. 

ACRES.  Odds  bullets,  no  !  By  my  valour  !  there  is  no 
merit  in  killing  him  so  near.  Do,  my  dear  Sir  Lucius, 
let  me  bring  him  down  at  a  long  shot — a  long  shot,  Sir 
Lucius,  if  you  love  me ! 

SIR  Luc.  Well,  the  gentleman's  friend  and  I  must 
settle  that.  But  tell  me  now,  Mr.  Acres,  in  case  of  an 
accident,  is  there  any  little  will  or  commission  I  could 
execute  for  you  ? 

ACRES.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Sir  Lucius — but  I 
don't  understand 

SIR  Luc.  Why,  you  may  think  there's  no  being  shot 
at  without  a  little  risk — and  if  an  unlucky  bullet  should 
carry  a  quietus  with  it — I  say  it  will  be  no  time  then  to 
be  bothering  you  about  family  matters. 

ACRES.  A  quietus ! 

SIR  Luc.  For  instance,  now — if  that  should  be  the 
case — would  you  choose  to  be  pickled  and  sent  home? — 
or  would  it 'be  the  same  to  you  to  lie  here  in  the  Abbey? 
I'm  told  there  is  very  snug  lying  in  the  Abbey . 

ACRES.  Pickled  !  Snug  lying  in  the  Abbey !  Odds 
tremors  !  Sir  Lucius,  don't  talk  so  1 

SIR  Luc.  I  suppose,  Mr.  Acres,  you  never  were  en- 
gaged in  an  affair  of  this  kind  before  ? 

ACRES.  No,  Sir  Lucius,  never  before. 

SIR  Luc.  Ah  !  that's  a  pity !  —  there's  nothing  like 
being  used  to  a  thing.  Pray  now,  how  would  you 
receive  the  gentleman's  shot? 

ACRES.  Odds  files !  I've  practised  that !  There,  Sir 
Lucius — there.  [Puts  himself  in  an  attitude.  ]  A  side- 
front,  hey  ?  Odd  1  I'll  make  myself  small  enough  !  I'll 
stand  edgeways. 

SIR  Luc.  Now — you're  quite  out — for  if  you  stand  so 
when  I  take,  my  aim [Levelling  at  him. 


92  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT   V. 


ACRES.  Zounds !  Sir  Lucius — are  you  sure  it  is  not 
cocked  ? 

SIB  Luc.  Never  fear. 

ACRES.  But — but — you  don't  know — it  may  go  off  of 
its  own  head ! 

SIR  Luc.  Pho  !  be  easy.  Well  now,  if  I  hit  you  in 
the  body,  my  bullet  has  a  double  chance — for  if  it  misses 
a  vital  part  of  your  right  side — 'twill  be  very  hard  if  it 
don't  succeed  on  the  left ! 

ACRES.   A  vital  part ! 

SIR  Luc.  But  there — fix  yourself  so.  [Placing  Aim.] 
Let  him  see  the  broadside  of  your  full  front — there. 
Now  a  ball  or  two  may  pass  clean  through  your  body, 
and  never  do  any  harm  at  all. 

ACRES.  Clean  through  me !  —  a  ball  or  two  clean 
through  me ! 

SIR  Luc.  Ay — may  they — and  it  is  much  the  genteelest 
attitude  into  the  bargain. 

ACRES.  Look'ee  !  Sir  Lucius — I'd  just  as  lieve  be  shot 
in  an  awkward  posture  as  a  genteel  one  ;  so,  by  my 
valour !  I  will  stand  edgeways. 

SIR  Luc.  {Looking  at  his  watch.]  Sure,  they  don't 
mean  to  disappoint  us — Hah !  no,  faith — I  think  I  see 
them  coming. 

ACRES.  Hey ! — what ! — coming ! 

SIR  Luc.  Ay.  Who  are  those  yonder  getting  over  the 
stile? 

ACRES.  There  are  two  of  them  indeed!  Well — let  them 
come— hey,  Sir  Lucius  ! — we — we — we — we — won't  run. 

SIR  Luc.  Run ! 

ACRES.  No — I  say — we  won't  run,  by  my  valour  ! 

SIR  Luc.  What  the  devil's  the  matter  with  you  ? 

ACRES.  Nothing — nothing — my  dear  friend — my  dear 
Sir  Lucius — but  I — I — I  don't  feel  quite  so  bold,  some- 
how, as  I  did. 


SC.    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  93 


SIR  Luc.  Oh,  fy  ! — consider  your  honour. 

ACRES.  Ay — true — my  honour.  Do,  Sir  Lucius,  edge 
in  a  word  or  two  every  now  and  then  about  my  honour. 

SIR  Luc.  Well,  here  they're  coming.  [Looking. 

ACRES.  Sir  ;  Lucius — if  I  wa'n't  with  you,  I  should 
almost  think  I  was  afraid.  If  my  valour  should  leave 
me  !  Valour  will  come  and  go. 

SIR  Luc.  Then  pray  keep  it  fast,  while  you.have  it. 

ACRES.  Sir  Lucius — I  doubt  it  is  going — yea — my 
valour  is  certainly  going ! — it  is  sneaking  off !  I  feel 
it  oozing  out  as  it  were  at  the  palms  of  my  hands  ! 

SIR  Luc.  Your  honour — your  honour.  Here  they 
are. 

ACRES.  Oh,  mercy  ! — now — that  I  was  safe  at  Clod 
Hall !  or  could  be  shot  before  I  was  aware  ! 

Enter  FAULKLAND  and  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE. 

SIR  Luc.  Gentlemen,  your  most  obedient.  Hah  ! 
what,  Captain  Absolute  !  So,  I  suppose,  sir,  you  are 
come  here,  just  like  myself — to  do  a  kind  office,  first 
for  your  friend — then  to  proceed  to  business  on  your 
own  account. 

ACRES.  What,  Jack  !  my  dear  Jack  !  my  dear  friend  ! 

ABS.  Hark'ee,  Bob,  Beverley's  at  hand. 

SIR  Luc.  Well,  Mr.  Acres — I  don't  blame  your 
saluting  the  gentleman  civilly.  [To  FAULKLAND.]  So, 
Mr.  Beverley,  if  you'll  choose  your  weapons,  the  captain 
and  I  will  measure  the  ground. 

FAULK.  My  weapons,  sir  ! 

ACRES.  Odds  life  !  Sir  Lucius,  I'm  not  going  to  fight 
Mr.  Faulkland  ;  these  are  my  particular  friends. 

SIR  Luc.  What,  sir,  did  you  not  come  here  to  fight 
Mr.  Acres  ? 

FAULK.  Not  1,  upon  my  word,  sir. 


94  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT   V. 


SIR  Luc.  Well  now,  that's  mighty  provoking  !  But 
I  hope,  Mr.  Faulkland,  as  there  are  three  of  us  come 
on  purpose  for  the  game,  you  won't  be  so  cantankerous 
as  to  spoil  the  party  by  sitting  out. 

ABS.  Oh,  pray,  Faulkland,  fight  to  oblige  Sir  Lucius. 

FAUI^K.  Nay,  if  Mr.  Acres  is  so  bent  on  the 
matter 

ACRES.  No,  no,  Mr.  Faulkland ;  I'll  bear  my  dis- 
appointment like  ;a  Christian.  Look'ee,  Sir  Lucius, 
there's  no  occasion  at  all  for  me  to  fight ;  and  if  it  is 
the  same  to  you,  I'd  as  lieve  let  it  alone. 

SIR  Luc.  Observe  me,  Mr.  Acres — I  must  not  be 
trifled  with.  You  have  certainly  challenged  some- 
body— and  you  came  here  to  fight  him.  Now,  if  that 
gentleman  is  willing  to  represent  him — I  can't  see,  for 
my  soul,  why  it  isn't  just  the  same  thing. 

ACRES.  Why  no — Sir  Lucius — I  tell  you,  'tis  one 
Beverley  I've  challenged — a  fellow,  you  see,  that  dare 
not  show  his  face  !  If  he  were  here,  I'd  make  him  give 
up  his  pretensions  directly. 

ABS.  Hold,  Bob — let  me  set  you  right.  There  is  no 
such  man  as  Beverley  in  the  case.  The  person  who 
assumed  that  name  is  before  you  ;  and  as  his  preten- 
sions are  the  same  in  both  characters,  he  is  ready  to 
support  them  in  whatever  way  you  please. 

SIR  Luc.  Well,  this  is  lucky.  Now  you  have  an 
opportunity 

ACRES.  What,  quarrel  with  my  dear  friend  Jack 
Absolute  ? — not  if  he  were  fifty  Beverleys  !  Zounds  ! 
Sir  Lucius,  you  would  not  have  me  so  unnatural. 

SIR  Luc.  Upon  my  conscience,  Mr.  Acres,  your  valour 
has  oozed  away  with  a  vengeance  ! 

ACRKS.  Not  in  the  least !  Odds  backs  and  abettors  ! 
I'll  be  your  second  with  all  my  heart — and  if  you 
should  get  a  quietus,  you  may  command  me  entirely. 


8(  .    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  95 

I'll  get  you  snug  lying  in  the  Abbey  here ;  or  pickle 
you,  and  send  you  over  to  Blunderbuss  Hall,  or  any- 
thing of  the  kind,  with  the  greatest  pleasure. 

SIR  Luc.  Pho !  pho !  you  are  little  better  than  a 
coward. 

ACRES.  Mind,  gentlemen,  he  calls  me  a  coward ; 
coward  was  the  word,  by  my  valour  ! 

SIR  Luc.  Well,  sir  ? 

ACRES.  Look'ee,  Sir  Lucius,  'tisn't  that  I  mind  the 
word  coward — coward  may  be  said  in  joke.  But 
if  you  had  called  me  a  poltroon,  odds  daggers  and 
balls 

SIR  Luc.  Well,  sir  ? 

ACRES.  I  should  have  thought  you  a  very  ill-bred 
man. 

SIR  Luc.  Pho  !  you  are  beneath  my  notice. 

ABS.  Nay,  Sir  Lucius,  you  can't  have  a  better  second 
than  my  friend  Acres.  He  is  a  most  determined  dog — 
called  in  the  country,  Fighting  Bob.  He  generally  kills 
a  man  a  week — don't  you,  Bob? 

ACRES.  Ay — at  home  ! 

SIR  Luc.  Well,  then,  captain,  'tis  we  must  begin — so 
come  out,  my  little  counsellor  [Draws  his  sword],  and 
ask  the  gentleman,  whether  he  will  resign  the  lady, 
without  forcing  you  to  proceed  against  him  ? 

ABS.  Come  on,  then,  sir  [Drawt] ;  since  you  won't  let 
it  be  an  amicable  suit,  here's  my  reply. 


Enter  SIR  ANTHONY  ABSOLUTE,  DAVID, 
MRS.  MALAPROP,  LTDIA,  and  JULIA. 

DAV.  Knock  'em  all  down,  sweet  Sir  Anthony ; 
knock  down  my  master  in  particular  ;  and  bind  his 
hands  over  to  their  good  behaviour ! 


96  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    V. 


SIB  ANTH.  Put  up,  Jack,  put  up,  or  I  shall  be  in  a 
frenzy — how  came  you  in  a  duel,  sir  ? 

ABS.  Faith,  'sir,  that  gentleman  can  tell  you  better 
than  I ;  'twas  he  called  on  me,  and  you  know,  sir,  I 
serve  his  majesty. 

SIB  ANTH.  Here's  a  pretty  fellow  ;  I  catch  him  going 
to  cut  a  man's  throat,  and  he  tells  me  he  serves  his 
majesty  !  Zounds  !  sirrah,  then  how  durst  you  draw 
the  king's  sword  against  one  of  his  subjects? 

ABS.  Sir,  I  tell  you  !  that  gentleman  called  me  out, 
without  explaining  his  reasons. 

SIB  ANTH.  'Gad  !  sir,  how  came  you  to  call  my  son 
out,  without  explaining  your  reasons? 

SIB  Luc.  Your  son,  sir,  insulted  me  in  a  manner 
which  my  honour  could  not  brook. 

SIB  ANTH.  Zounds  !  Jack,  how  durst  you  insult  the 
gentleman  in  a  manner  which  his  honour  could  not 
brook  ? 

MBS.  MAL.  Come,  come,  let's  have  no  honour  before 
ladies.  Captain  Absolute,  come  here.  How  could  you 
intimidate  us  so?  Here's  Lydia  has  been  terrified  to 
death  for  you. 

ABS.  For  fear  I  should  be  killed,  or  escape,  ma'am  ? 

MBS  MAL.  Nay,  no  delusions  to  the  past.  Lydia  is 
convinced.  Speak,  child. 

SIB  Luc.  With  your  leave,  ma'am,  I  must  put  in  a 
word  here.  I  believe  I  could  interpret  the  young  lady's 
silence.  Now  mark 

LYD.  What  is  it  you  mean,  sir  ? 

SIB  Luc.  Come,  come,  Delia,  we  must  be  serious  now 
— this  is  no  time  for  trifling. 

LYD.  'Tis  true,  sir ;  and  your  reproof  bids  me  offer 
this  gentleman  my  hand,  and  solicit  the  return  of  his 
affections. 

ABS.  Oh  !  my  little  angel,  say  you  so  ?     Sir  Lucius  — 


I.]  THE     RIVALS.  97 


I  perceive  there  must  be  some  mistake  here,  with  regard 
to  the  affront  which  you  affirm  I  have  given  you.  I  can 
only  say,  that  it  could  not  have  been  intentional.  And 
as  you  must  be  convinced  that  I  should  not  fear  to 
support  a  realjinjury — you  shall  now  see  that  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  atone  for  an  inadvertency — I  ask  your 
pardon.  But  for  this  lady,  while  honoured  with  her 
approbation,  I  will  support  my  claim  against  any  man 
whatever. 

SIR  ANTH.  Well  said,  Jack,  and  I'll  stand  by  you, 
my  boy. 

ACRES.  Mind,  I  give  up  all  my  claim — I  make  no 
pretensions  to  anything  in  the  world  ;  and  if  I  can't 
get  a  wife  without  fighting  for  her,  by  my  valour  !  I'll 
live  a  bachelor. 

SIR  Luc.  Captain,  give  me  your  hand  :  an  affront 
handsomely  acknowledged  becomes  an  obligation ;  and 
as  for  the  lady,  if  she  chooses  to  deny  her  own  hand- 
writing, here {Takes  out  letters. 

MRS.  MAL.  Oh,  he  will  dissolve  my  mystery !  Sir 
Lucius,  perhaps  there's  some  mistake — perhaps  I  can 
illuminate 

SIR  Luc.  Pray,  old  gentlewoman,  don't  interfere 
where  you  have  no  business.  Miss  Languish,  are  you 
my  Delia,  or  not  ? 

LYD.  Indeed,  Sir  Lucius,  I  am  not. 

[  Walks  aside  with  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE. 

MRS.  MAL.  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger — ungrateful  as  you 
are — I  own  the  soft  impeachment— pardon  my  blushes, 
I  am  Delia. 

SIR  Luc.  You  Delia — pho  !  pho  !  be  easy. 

MRS.  MAL.  Why,  thou  barbarous  Vandyke — those 
letters  are  mine.  When  you  are  more  sensible  of  my 
benignity — perhaps  I  may  be  brought  to  encourage 
your  addresses. 

o 


98  THE     RIVALS.  [ACT    V. 


SIB  Luc.  Mrs.  Malaprop,  I  am  extremely  sensible  of 
your  condescension ;  and  whether  you  or  Lucy  have 
put  this  trick  on  me,  I  am  equally  beholden  to  you. 
And,  to  show  you  I  am  not  ungrateful,  Captain 
Absolute,  since  you  have  taken  that  lady  from  me, 
I'll  give  you  my  Delia  into  the  bargain. 

ABS.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Sir  Lucius ;  but 
here's  my  friend,  Fighting  Bob,  unprovided  for. 

SIB  Luc.  Hah !  little  Valour — here,  will  you  make 
your  fortune  ? 

ACRES.  Odds  wrinkles  !  No.  But  give  me  your 
hand,  Sir  Lucius,  forget  and  forgive ;  but  if  ever  j  I 
give  you  a  chance  of  pickling  me  again,  say  Bob  Acres 
is  a  dunce,  that's  all. 

SIB  ANTH.  Come,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  don't  be  cast  down 
— you  are  in  your  bloom  yet. 

MBS.  MAL.  O  Sir  Anthony — men  are  all  barbarians. 
[All  retire  but  JULIA  and  FAULKLAND. 

JUL.  [AsideJ]  He  seems  dejected  and  unhappy — not 
sullen  ;  there  was  some  foundation,  however,  for  the 
tale  he  told  me.  O  woman !  how  true  should  be  your 
judgment  when  your  resolution  is  so  weak  ! 

FAULK.  Julia !  how  can  I  sue  for  what  I  so  little 
deserve?  I  dare  not  presume,  yet  Hope  is  the  child 
of  Penitence. 

JUL.  Oh  !  Faulkland,  you  have  not  been  more  faulty 
in  your  unkind  treatment  of  me,  than  I  am  now  in 
wanting  inclination  to  resent  it.  As  my  heart  honestly 
bids  me  place  my  weakness  to  the  account  of  love,  I 
should  be  ungenerous  not  to  admit  the  same  plea  for 
yours. 

FAULK.  Now  I  shall  be  blest  indeed  ! 

SIB  ANTH.  [Coming  forward.]  What's  going  on  here  ? 
So  you  have  been  quarrelling  too,  I  warrant  !  Come, 
Julia,  I  never  interfered  before ;  but  let  me  have  a 


SC.    III.]  THE     RIVALS.  99 


hand  in  the  matter  at  last.  All  the  faults  I  have  ever 
seen  in  my  friend  Faulkland  seemed  to  proceed  from 
what  he  calls  the  delicacy  and  warmth  of  his  affection 
for  you.  There,  marry  him  directly,  Julia ;  you'll  find 
he'll  mend  surprisingly !  [The  rest  come  forward. 

SIR  Luc.  Come,  now,  I  hope  there  is  no  dissatisfied 
person  but  what  is  content ;  for  as  I  have  been  dis- 
appointed myself,  it  will  be  very  hard  if  I  have  not  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  other  people  succeed  better. 

ACRES.  You  are  right,  Sir  Lucius.  So,  Jack,  I  wish 
you  joy — Mr.  Faulkland  the  same.  Ladies,  come  now, 
to  show  you  I'm  neither  vexed  nor  angry,  odds  tabors 
and  pipes !  I'll  order  the  fiddles  in  half-an-hour  to 
the  New  Rooms — and  I  insist  on  your  all  meeting  me 
there. 

SIR  ANTH.  'Gad  !  sir,  I  like  your  spirit ;  and  at  night 
we  single  lads  will  drink  a  health  to  the  young  couples, 
and  a  husband  to  Mrs.  Malaprop. 

FAULK.  Our  partners  are  stolen  from  us,  Jack — I 
hope  to  be  congratulated  by  each  other — yours  for 
having  checked  in  time  the  errors  of  an  ill-directed 
imagination,  which  might  have  betrayed  an  innocent 
heart ;  and  mine  for  having,  by  her  gentleness  and 
candour,  reformed  the  unhappy  temper  of  one  who  by 
it  made  wretched  whom  he  loved  most,  and  tortured 
the  heart  he  ought  to  have  adored. 

ABS.  Well,  Jack,  we  have  both  tasted  the  bitters,  as 
well  as  the  sweets  of  love  ;  with  this  difference  only, 
that  you  always  prepared  the  bitter  cup  for  yourself, 
while  I 

LYD.  Was  always  obliged  to  me  for  it,  hey !  Mr. 
Modesty? But,  come,  no  more  of  that — our  happi- 
ness is  now  as  unalloyed  as  general. 

JCJL.  Then  let  us  study  to  preserve  it  so  :  and  while 
Hope  pictures  to  us  a  flattering  scene  of  future  bliss, 


100  THE     RIVALS. 


let  us  deny  its  pencil  those  colours  which  are  too  bright 
to  be  lasting.  When  hearts  deserving  happiness  would 
unite  their  fortunes,  Virtue  would  crown  them  with  an 
unfading  garland  of  modest  hurtless  flowers :  but  ill- 
judging  Passion  will  force  the  gaudier  rose  into  the 
wreath,  whose  thorn  offends  them  when  its  leaves  are 
dropped  !  [Exeunt  omnes. 


EPILOGUE. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 

SPOKEN  BY  MRS.  BULKLEY. 

LADIES,  for  you — I  heard  our  poet  say — 
He'd  try  to  coax  some  moral  from  his  play  : 
" One  moral's  plain,"  cried  I,  "without  more  fuss  ; 
Man's  social  happiness  all  rests  on  us : 
Through  all  the  drama — whether  damn'd  or  not — 
Love  gilds  the  scene,  and  women  guide  the  plot. 
From  every  rank  obedience  is  our  due — 
D'ye  doubt?    The  world's  great  stage  shall  prove  it 
true. 

The  cit,  well  skill'd  to  shun  domestic  strife, 
Will  sup  abroad  ;  but  first  he'll  ask  his  wife  : 
John  Trot,  his  friend,  for  once  will  do  the  same, 
But  then — he'll  just  step  home  to  tell  his  dame. 

The  surly  squire  at  noon  resolves  to  rule, 
And  half  the  day — Zounds  !  madam  is  a  fool  ! 
Convinced  at  night,  the  vanquish'd  victor  says, 
Ah,  Kate  !  you  women  have  such  coaxing  ways. 


THE     RIVALS.  101 


The  jolly  toper  chides  each  tardy  blade, 
Till  reeling  Bacchus  calls  on  Love  for  aid  : 
Then  with  each  toast  he  sees  fair  bumpers  swim, 
And  kisses  Chloe  on  the  sparkling  brim  ! 

Nay,  I  have  heard  that  statesmen — great  and  wise- 
Will  sometimes  counsel  with  a  lady's  eyes  ! 
The  servile  suitors  watch  her  various  face, 
She  smiles  preferment,  or  she  frowns  disgrace, 
Curtsies  a  pension  here — there  nods  a  place. 

Nor  with  less  awe,  in  scenes  of  humbler  life, 
Is  view'd  the  mistress,  or  is  heard  the  wife. 
The  poorest  peasant  of  the  poorest  soil, 
The  child  of  poverty,  and  heir  to  toil, 
Early  from  radiant  Love's  impartial  light 
Steals  one  small  spark  to  cheer  this  world  of  night : 
Dear  spark  !  that  oft  through  winter's  chilling  woes 
Is  all  the  warmth  his  little  cottage  knows  ! 

The  wandering  tar,  who  not  for  years  has  press'd 
The  widow'd  partner  of  his  day  of  rest, 
On  the  cold  deck,  far  from  her  arms  removed, 
Still  hums  the  ditty  which  his  Susan  loved  ; 
And  while  around  the  cadence  rude  is  blown, 
The  boatswain  whistles  in  a  softer  tone. 

The  soldier,  fairly  proud  of  wounds  and  toil, 
Pants  for  the  triumph  of  his  Nancy's  smile ; 
But  ere  the  battle  should  he  list  her  cries, 
The  lover  trembles — and  the  hero  dies  ! 
That  heart,  by  war  and  honour  steel'd  to  fear, 
Droops  on  a  sigh,  and  sickens  at  a  tear  ! 

But  ye  more  cautious,  ye  nice-judging  few, 
Who  give  to  beauty  only  beauty's  due, 
Though  friends  to  love — ye  view  with  deep  regret 
Our  conquests  marr'd,  our  triumphs  incomplete, 
Till  polish'd  wit  more  lasting  charms  disclose, 
And  judgment  fix  the  darts  which  beauty  throws  ! 


102  THE     RIVALS. 


la  female  breasts  did  sense  and  merit  rule, 
The  lover's  mind  would  ask  no  other  school ; 
Shamed  into  sense,  the  scholars  of  our  eyes, 
Our  beaux  from  gallantry  would  soon  be  wise ; 
Would  gladly  light,  their  homage  to  improve, 
The  lamp  of  knowledge  at  the  torch  of  love  !" 


Printed  by  BALLANTYNE,  HANSON  &•  Co, 
London  &f  Edinburgh 


f/i- 

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UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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